Feels Like Home
by bingblot
Summary: An AU post-ep to 2x18 "Boom." "He cares about you, Kate. You may not see it; you may not be ready to. But he does." She saw it. She just didn't know what to do about it.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All things "Castle" belong to Andrew Marlowe and the powers that be at ABC.

Author's Note: What comes of rewatching 2x17 "Tick, Tick, Tick" and 2x18 "Boom." Beckett being forced out of necessity to stay at the loft for a time was another great missed opportunity for Castle and Beckett and I wanted to try my hand at fixing it. Also, I thought it'd be nice to return to the (innocent) times of S2 before Caskett's relationship got so much more complicated with all that happens especially in S4 and beyond.

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 1_

Kate jerked awake with a sharp gasp, her heart racing, her breath coming too quickly.

Panic made her chest feel tight, her lungs not quite able to expand. This wasn't—where was—fire. There was a fire.

Disoriented, her gaze flitted around the dim room and reality gradually returned to her.

Castle. She was in Castle's loft. In the guest bedroom.

Her apartment had exploded. So she was staying here.

Scott Dunn had been caught. He was behind bars. It was over. She was safe.

Homeless, but safe.

She frowned at the thought and pushed herself upright and then winced as various aches and pains from her fight with Dunn and the residual aches from escaping the bomb made themselves known. Oww.

She had indulged herself in an extended soak in the (wonderfully luxurious) bathtub in Castle's guest bathroom earlier that evening but now, hours later, her body was definitely feeling the effects.

Moving slowly and carefully, Kate slid out of bed and stood up, making her way down the stairs and to the kitchen.

She found a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water, tossing down some painkillers.

Turning away from the kitchen island, she started and almost dropped the glass.

"Castle, you shouldn't sneak up on people in the middle of the night," she scolded.

He held up his hands. "Sorry."

She huffed out a breath as she moved around the kitchen island, heading towards the living room area.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.

She lifted one shoulder into a half-shrug as she sat down on the couch, carefully keeping another wince off her face at the tug of pain from the bruises on her back and shoulder. "Unfamiliar bed; worrying over having to find a new apartment." She wasn't about to mention her nightmare. "What about you? Why aren't you asleep at this hour?"

"Just doing some writing."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Do you always write at 2 o'clock in the morning?"

He tossed her a small smirk. "Inspiration doesn't only strike 9 to 5, Beckett. Genius works at all hours."

She snorted. "Genius. Yeah, right. I sometimes think that your ego makes the Grand Canyon look small by comparison."

He put on an expression of affected injury. "You're mocking me when I just saved your life? That's gratitude for you."

He was teasing. She knew that. Just part of the usual banter that characterized this odd friendship—partnership—whatever—of theirs. But she still felt a little twinge of guilt. He had saved her life _twice_ in the last two days, had run into a burning building and, when the rubble and broken glass from the explosion had proven to be too much for her bare feet, he had actually picked her up and _carried her _to the emergency vehicles. (She was so used to thinking of him as her pesky, childish, and rather metrosexual tag-along that it was surprising—surprising and hot, an annoying internal voice spoke up—to learn that he was strong enough to carry her without much apparent difficulty. She shoved the thought away. That wasn't—she _couldn't_ think like that.) He'd shot Dunn before Dunn could shoot her. And he'd opened up his home to her, given her a place to stay when she had nowhere else and refused to listen to any of her protests.

Unbidden, she heard Lanie's voice in her head from what Lanie had said to her earlier when she'd been helping Kate go through the wreckage of her apartment and pick out which of her clothes and other things could be saved and which had to be tossed. Kate had, again, asked Lanie if she could stay with her and Lanie had responded, tartly, "Girl, you're telling me you think you'd be more comfortable crashing on my couch, which I'd remind you, is short enough that your feet would probably dangle off the edge, than staying with Writer Boy where you'd have a real bed and a bedroom to yourself?"

Kate had grumbled but had to admit the sense of Lanie's words. Neither Lanie nor the boys had a guest bedroom in their apartments and Ryan had a girlfriend who stayed with him at least half the nights anyway and Kate wasn't about to intrude on them like that.

Kate was brought back to the present by Castle.

"Beckett. You know I wasn't trying to guilt you or anything."

She blinked and managed a slight smile for him. "No, it's okay. You just reminded me that I never said thanks for…" she trailed off, waving her hand in an awkward gesture to indicate the loft, but finally finished, "saving my life." Easier and safer to thank him for saving her life than for everything else.

He shrugged and gave her a careless grin. She was getting to know his expressions by now and so she was expecting his demurral but she was not expecting what he said next. "No thanks necessary, Beckett. My motives were purely self-interested anyway."

Self-interested? It had been in his self-interest to run into a burning building to save her?

She threw him a skeptical look. "Is this some weird ironic use of the term self-interested?"

In his self-interest to save her because she mattered to him? Because he valued having her in his life so much, an errant voice in her head suggested and she pushed it aside. That wasn't—it couldn't be what he meant.

He scoffed. "No. I'm talking about the money."

"Money," she repeated blankly.

He gave her a look of exaggerated, wide-eyed sincerity. "Do you have any idea how much money _Heat Wave_ has made for me? Or how much money Black Pawn offered me for my contract for the next Nikki Heat books? And since you are the inspiration for Nikki Heat, clearly it would behoove me to keep you alive so I can keep shadowing you and getting authenticity for my books. Authenticity sells books, Detective, and I can't write authentically about Nikki without following the inspiration for Nikki," he pontificated.

She bit her lip but couldn't quite hold back her laugh. "It would behoove you? Who uses language like that anymore?"

"I'm a writer; I can use whatever language I like. So you see, Beckett, I had purely mercenary motives for saving you. After all, Alexis will be going to college in a few years and tuition is expensive."

She laughed at his silliness, even as she felt rather treacherous warmth blossom in her chest. She knew how rich he was—well, no, she didn't really know but she could guess judging from the size of his loft and the fact that she knew he had a Ferrari. (And he had given $100,000 of his own money without blinking an eye in order to catch her mother's killer.) He didn't need more money—he was already rich—he was just trying to make her feel more comfortable with owing him so much.

"Well, I would hate to think that I was responsible for Alexis not getting the education she deserves so I'll do my best to stay alive in the future," she managed to say but couldn't quite control her expression to match the lightness of her tone. Maybe it was the lateness of the hour or her uncharacteristic sense of vulnerability after the events of the last couple days but her defenses were weaker, if not entirely down.

He only smiled at her and they sat in silence for a couple minutes—surprising her since she always tended to forget that he _could_ be silent for any length of time but even as she had the thought, he spoke.

"If you want, I can call my realtor to help you find a new place. It might make it easier."

"Thanks, Castle. I might take you up on that."

"Also, I know my mother has some odds and ends of furniture in storage from her last apartment before moving in here." He quirked a smile. "And fortunately, her taste in furniture is less… dramatic than her taste in clothing. I'm sure my mother would be happy to let you take a look at it and take what you like whenever you find a new place."

She blinked. Furniture. She hadn't even thought about all that yet, mostly focused on her clothes and personal keepsakes but he was right. She would need to replace all her furniture and the cost of that, on top of finding a new apartment, to say nothing of replacing at least half her wardrobe… (She didn't know for sure but somehow she doubted that insurance would come through for anything other than the bare minimum.) "Oh, I… hadn't even thought about furniture yet. Are you sure Martha won't need it some time?"

He waved a hand. "You can ask her but I promise you if she ever actually moves out of here, she'll just use it as an excuse to buy all new furniture and make me pay for it." He glanced around theatrically and then leaned forward to add in a loud whisper, "Mother likes my credit cards more than she likes me."

She choked on a laugh. He was being ridiculous—as usual—but he'd managed to dispel her sudden worry over how she was supposed to afford everything she needed to replace.

He sat back and then said, with a smirk, "And Beckett, since I know this is the most important thing, I will personally ensure that your entire collection of the works of Richard Castle is replaced."

"I'd rather have the complete works of James Patterson."

"If you're very nice, I might throw in a _few_, just a couple, of his books too," he said with the air of someone making a great concession.

She wanted to laugh and she _was_ smiling but it suddenly hit her all over again, now that the adrenaline of working the case was over, that she was homeless, had lost... just about everything she owned. She had a little less than a week's worth of clothes—the spare changes of clothes and the one extra pair of shoes she kept at the precinct along with a few outfits that she had fortunately not had time to pick up from the dry cleaners before now—but other than that… About half her wardrobe was salvageable but in dire need of some serious dry cleaning before it would be wearable again. Everything else—her family photos, the keepsake box where she usually kept her badge, her father's watch, and her mother's ring, the set of nice dishes that used to belong to her grandmother—was gone, destroyed.

And Castle couldn't replace all that but he had saved her father's watch, had offered her a place to stay—and she knew without his saying so that the offer was open for as long as she needed until she found a new apartment—and even now, he was offering to help her rebuild her life again.

Unbidden, she heard Agent Shaw's voice in her mind. _He cares about you, Kate. You may not see it, you may not be ready to. But he does. _

Oh, she saw it. She saw it. She just didn't know what to do about it.

"You're looking at me like you've never seen me before, Beckett."

"I just… you're being so nice to me," she blurted out dumbly. _Stupid, Kate. _

He gave her a look of exaggerated shock. "Are you implying that I'm not always nice to you, Detective?"

"Considering you seem to have made it your mission in life to annoy me…" she manufactured a teasing little smile. "It's… disorienting to have you being so… nice."

"How do you know I'm not this nice to all the beautiful women I know?" he parried.

She snorted. "Really, Castle? That's a line unworthy of your status as a writer."

"It's the middle of the night. I'm off my game," he defended.

She smirked at him. "That's assuming you ever have any game to speak of."

He threw her a look of exaggerated dismay. "I'll have you know that I'm famous for being charming! I've got a lot of game!" he protested. "Just ask the New York Ledger."

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to believe everything you read in the paper?"

He gave her an odd look that she couldn't quite decipher but only said, "I'll remind you of that the next time Page Six decides to write about me."

She bit her lip but couldn't quite hold back her smile, one that he returned, and she felt a dangerous little flutter inside her because it was one of his real smiles, not one of his usual, infuriating smirks, one of the smiles that reminded her that Castle really wasn't the jackass he spent so much time pretending to be.

She blinked and yanked her eyes away from his, clearing her throat. "It's late, Castle. I'm going to…" she broke off, rapidly rethinking her unthinking words of saying she was going to bed and finished, quickly, "go back upstairs and sleep."

It sounded awkward and she inwardly cringed but he didn't comment, only stood up in his turn.

"Good night, Beckett."

Her eyes flickered to meet his briefly. "Night, Castle."

Once back in the guest bedroom, Kate lay down on the bed and huffed out her breath.

She needed to leave. She couldn't stay here, in Castle's loft, with Castle for very long. A couple days, a week maybe. Just enough time to get her bearings again and feel a little more put-together, after having her entire life basically blown apart by the bomb. That was all and then she would leave.

* * *

Castle waited in the living room until he heard the soft sound of the guest bedroom door being closed before he flicked off the light in the kitchen and retreated into his office.

He was so doomed.

He knew it.

He'd told himself and told himself for weeks, even months now, that what he felt for Beckett was just the healthy lust that any red-blooded male would feel for someone so gorgeous. And of course, he did want her. Anyone would.

But now, well, now he couldn't kid himself that his feelings for Beckett were that simple.

It wasn't just lust. It wasn't just friendship.

He was in over his head. In so far over his head that he knew he was going to drown and fall in l—no, no, he couldn't think the word. He didn't. He couldn't.

(But a part of him already knew that he did.)

He'd thought the bottom had fallen out of his world when he'd seen and felt the bomb go off in her apartment. He hadn't been able to breathe properly in the endless minutes before he'd found her alive. (And naked, an errant voice in his head inserted.)

And now he'd been sitting in his office trying to write, to describe the explosion, the heat of the flames, the smell of the smoke. (He was a writer; he always tried to write out descriptions of new experiences and being so close to a bomb going off was a new experience.) He hadn't succeeded. He'd thought the added distance of the couple days that had passed and everything that had happened in those couple days would allow him to write about it. He'd been wrong. Every time he tried, the emotion of that moment, of thinking that Ka—Beckett was dead returned and he'd practically needed to grip his desk just to keep from going upstairs to the guest bedroom to make sure she was really all right.

And then as if his own worries had conjured her up, he'd heard soft footsteps coming down the stairs and he'd known, somehow, that it was her. He'd fought with himself for a few seconds—being alone with her in the middle of the night was dangerous—but then he'd given in to his own driving need to see her—alive and safe—his own wish to be close to her. (He always wanted to be close to her. He was so doomed.)

He could still see the uncovered cut on her forehead from the explosion, her wrist had been taped up, and she'd looked tired and stressed and there'd been a tightness around the set of her lips that made him suspect that she was sore too. She'd still been the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

And even with all that had happened to her in the last couple days—being threatened by a serial killer, nearly being blown up in an explosion, losing her home and her belongings—she'd still been able to smile and laugh and tease him and match wits with him and he'd hardly been able to breathe for being amazed by her.

Words, extravagant promises, bubbled up inside him and it had been all he could do to bite them back. He wanted to ask her to move in and stay forever. He wanted to tell her he would buy her a new apartment if she wanted. He wanted to tell her he'd pay for her entire replacement wardrobe. He wanted to tell her that he l—cared about her and he would do anything for her and beg her to let him help her.

He hadn't.

He'd limited his offers to the help of his realtor, offered up his mother's old furniture (maybe he could go furniture shopping and have that new furniture put in with his mother's odds and ends), and then offered to replace her collection of his books. (That much, at least, he thought he could do; he left unsaid that he had every intention of replacing as much of her library as he could remember seeing on her bookshelves in the night he'd spent on her couch. If he limited it mostly to her mystery collection, surely she would allow that.)

Ironic, that Beckett's rather prickly independence—and Beckett was undoubtedly the most self-sufficient woman he'd ever met in his life—only made him want to help her more, do more for her. He knew her well enough to know she wouldn't ask for help—but he liked and respected her all the more for her independence. (He liked everything about her.)

Yeah, he was really doomed.

But she'd thanked him for saving her life. And she'd smiled at him a few times, real soft smiles. And she'd be staying at the loft for at least the next few days until she could get things sorted out.

And maybe, this would be his chance to show Kate Beckett that he cared, that he was serious about her—because he _was_ serious about her, more serious than even he'd realized until now—that he wanted her to give him a chance. Maybe this would be the catalyst to push them from being colleagues at work and friends—he thought she considered him a friend by now, she certainly didn't hate him anymore—to being something more than that.

_~To be continued…~_

* * *

_A/N 2: Stepping out of my comfort zone a little with this fic since multi-chapter fics aren't my strong suit. _

_As always, thank you all for reading and please let me know what you think! _


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

Author's Note: I've been absolutely blown away by the response to this fic. Thank you to everyone who's reviewed, favorited, or followed this fic. I don't respond to all reviews but rest assured, I read and appreciate every single one.

Borrowing some dialogue from 3x18 "One Life to Lose" in this chapter.

* * *

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 2_

It was a temporary thing. An emergency situation since she had nowhere else to go and she couldn't exactly afford to stay at a hotel for days and weeks on end considering how much money she'd undoubtedly need to spend to replace everything she'd lost.

So she stayed at the loft. It was like a hotel, she told herself. She should think of it as being a hotel. Temporary, impersonal accommodation. The Castle Hotel. A luxury hotel with its comfortable beds and expensively-set up bathrooms, but still a hotel.

That was all.

Castle gave her a set of keys for the loft. But that was fine, she told herself, because hotels gave room keys too.

Except it was hard to think of the loft as a hotel when it also came equipped with home-cooked meals and family dinners. With Castle asking Alexis about her day and Martha regaling them all with stories from her acting career (while Castle made funny faces and teasing comments).

And dinner was followed by a real sit-down breakfast and gourmet coffee in the morning and skimming through the newspaper while Castle occasionally stole sections of the paper to read and checked with Alexis about her schedule for the day and then Alexis finished packing up her things for school and Kate and Castle left shortly after to go to the precinct. Castle directed her to the coffee shop where he normally picked up their coffees and insisted on still paying for both of their coffees, even though she told him she was more than capable of paying for her own coffee. He talked her down and then refused to listen further as he stepped up to the counter and ordered "the usual," giving her a moment to wonder just how many coffees he'd bought for them over the last year. (And when had she started relying on him to bring her coffee every morning, to expect it?)

Then it was a relatively normal day of paperwork, tying up the loose ends from the Dunn case, and getting all the materials and evidence ready to send over to the DA, while Castle played games on his phone and was his usual distracting, irritating self.

Then it was back to the loft for another family dinner and a movie night since Alexis had managed to finish up her homework early.

And it was all so pleasant that Kate found herself forgetting for minutes, even hours, on end that she was only there because her own apartment had been blown up. Only to be sharply reminded when she looked at the single small suitcase, borrowed from Lanie, which housed all her currently wearable clothes. Or when she took off her badge, her father's watch, and slipped off the chain with her mother's ring on it only to remember that the box she usually kept them in was gone and she just had to leave them out on the dresser.

The next day, it belatedly occurred to her that she should probably lock her gun up when she was in the loft. She was so used to keeping it handy in her apartment, just in case. Her old building had been in a nice enough neighborhood and a safe enough building but still, she was a cop, to say nothing of a woman living alone, and she felt safer knowing her piece was just in a drawer, easy to reach if she needed it.

But Castle's loft was in a secure building with a doorman in the lobby 24/7. Guests who weren't accompanied by building residents needed to show ID and sign in before being allowed to go to the elevator banks and mail and packages were accepted by the doorman, deliveries of food being the exception to that rule. And guests who weren't on the approved guest list were generally required to wait in the lobby until the doorman was personally assured by the resident that the guest was allowed to come up. With all that, there was no reason for her to keep her gun nearby and then, too, she was sharing an apartment with a teenager, albeit the most mature teenager she'd ever met.

So she mentioned it to Castle and the first night, he'd simply nodded and said he'd put it into his safe before taking her gun and going into his office.

But then the second night when she tried to hand him her gun again, he gestured for her to follow him into his office and took down the picture on the wall and showed her where the safe was hidden and then started to tell her the combination to open it.

She balked. "Castle," she hissed. "You can't just go around telling people the combination for your safe!"

He gave her a look that suggested he thought she'd momentarily lost her mind and she narrowed her eyes at him. He made a show of looking around his office before turning back to her. "I'm not telling 'people' how to get into my safe; I'm telling you. You are not 'people.'"

"Who else knows the combination for the safe?" she challenged him.

He opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. "It's written on a piece of paper hidden in one of my desk drawers and Mother and Alexis know where it is so if they need to, they can get into the safe."

She blinked. So, no one. No one else actually knew the combination to his safe. She should have expected as much. For all his silliness, he wasn't naïve. The man wrote crime novels and spent his entire life thinking about the crimes people committed. "See? You can't tell me the combination!"

His answer was to rattle off the four numbers of the combination. "I think I just did."

She was going to kill him one day. Really. "Castle!"

"I trust you."

She gaped at him, all the wind suddenly taken out of her sails by the matter-of-fact way he'd said that, as if it was the most obvious, definite thing in the world. As if he'd just stated that the sun rose in the east.

And then he smirked. "Anyway, if I wake up one morning and find my safe has been cleaned out, this way I'll be able to tell the Robbery detectives exactly who to arrest."

With that, he turned and left his office before she managed to so much as recover her wits.

She was going to kill him.

She muttered to herself as she gave in and opened up his safe and she wasn't going to look, just put her gun inside it, but she was a cop, she noticed things, and there, on the side, sitting right next to a stack of papers was money. She hastily double-checked that the safety was on her gun before putting it just on top of the papers and then quickly closed the safe and restored the picture that hid it from view, even as her brain reeled a little.

He'd told her the combination to his safe. His safe, where he kept what her cop's eye told her had to be something close to $50,000 in cash.

He trusted her.

And she suddenly realized something else that hadn't even occurred to her.

It was a secure building. With a pre-approved guest list for relatives and personal friends of the building residents who were expected visitors. She remembered the first time she'd come to the loft, when she'd been stuck on the Melanie Cavanaugh case. She could have used her badge to get in but hadn't felt comfortable doing that when she was technically off-duty so she'd given her name to the doorman—Peter, she now knew his name was—and been told she could go straight up. She hadn't thought anything of it—she hadn't known about the building's guest policy—but she knew now and she belatedly realized that Castle must have already put her on the guest list. More than a year ago, almost immediately after they had started working together.

He trusted her.

It was hard to keep her heart from warming at the realization of just how much he trusted her but she told herself it didn't mean that much. Castle might not be naïve but he was a trusting person, an optimist, who liked to believe the best about people.

No, what was really starting to bother her a little was the realization of just how much she trusted him.

She had given him her back-up piece when she'd been going in after Dunn. She'd trusted him with a gun, trusted him to have her back.

She'd trusted him so she had followed his theory about Dunn based on nothing more than his gut. A cop learned to trust the instincts of fellow cops but Castle wasn't a cop. He had no training and his theories were often based on his writer's instinct for a good story. But for all that, when it mattered, when she'd known the lives of Agent Shaw and her team might well be on the line, she had trusted him.

But that had been work. Trusting him professionally was one thing. Trusting him personally was another.

But she was starting to trust him personally too. Worse, she was starting to _want_ to trust him personally.

And that was probably the most frightening thing. Because she didn't trust people easily. She didn't let people in.

Trusting people had never ended well for her. Trusting _him_, even a little, hadn't really worked well for her before either—she still remembered the sick twisting inside her as he'd told her "It's about your mother," right after she'd told him to keep out of her mother's case—but then he'd apologized with sincerity and regret written all over his face. He'd wormed his way back into her life and… And he had given $100,000 of his own money to try to catch her mother's killer. (_I will do anything that you need, including nothing, if that's what you want.) _And then he'd saved her life, twice, and opened up his home to her and she was starting to want to trust him again. Trust him more.

She just didn't know if she could. If she should.

Kate left his office since she could hardly hide in there all evening, reminding herself sternly that Castle was only a friend and work colleague, her irritating shadow, who was giving her a place to stay temporarily so she wouldn't be homeless. That was all. Really.

Castle was puttering around in the kitchen and she had to laugh at the sight of him wearing a bright pink apron with the word "Diva" written across the front.

He looked up at her laugh and grinned at her.

"Nice to see you're finally admitting it," she quipped as she joined him in the kitchen.

"What?" He looked down at the apron and then laughed. "It's mother's. Alexis got it for her as a joke and it just happened to be the first one I grabbed."

She smirked at him. "Oh, I don't know, Castle. Pink is a good color on you and it's certainly appropriate."

He made a face at her. "Haha, Beckett."

She bit back her smile as she poured herself a glass of water and perched on one of the stools at the kitchen island.

"Stir fry okay for dinner?" he asked as he rummaged in the fridge.

"That's fine. What can I do to help?"

He flapped a hand at her. "Nothing. I've got it under control. You're a guest."

She huffed. "Castle. If I'm invading your home, the least I can do is help out a little."

"You are not invading."

"Castle."

"Fine. If you must help, you can set the table."

"Consider it done." Kate nodded briskly, feeling more comfortable once she was doing something. "Will Alexis be home?"

"No. She texted to say she's at a study group at a friend's place and will eat dinner there."

"What about Martha?"

"With my mother, no one ever knows but I'm going to guess that since she was here for dinner yesterday, she won't be today."

Oh. Kate froze for a moment. They were going to be eating dinner alone, just the two of them.

She shook off the thought. They were colleagues, partners even. At work. They could share a meal together. They had before. She pushed aside the thought that the times before had always been right after or during a case and always out, at Remy's or somewhere else.

She wasn't going to think about it.

She busied herself setting the table, making a production out of lining up the silverware with mathematical precision as a distraction.

"Wine, Beckett?"

She jerked her head up to look at him. "Oh. Sure."

He waved a hand in the direction of the wine cooler. "Pick a bottle."

"I don't really know much about wine. How do you know I won't pick out something terrible?"

He gave her a look of mock offense. "All the wine in there was personally selected by me. I don't have any terrible wines."

"Oh, I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to question your expertise, monsieur sommelier," she said with exaggerated humility.

He inclined his head with an air of condescension and she bit back a grin as she went to the wine cooler.

Ridiculous man.

She refused to admit that she found his antics and his humor to be endearing. And kind of adorable.

Except he wasn't adorable. Not at all. Not a bit.

She picked out a wine, basically at random, and he nodded his approval. And she opened the bottle and poured some into two glasses while he made dinner and she tried, very hard, not to notice how… domestic a scene this was. What it would look like to anyone watching—as if they were… a couple. Married.

_("So you and I are married."_

"_We are not married!"_

"_Relax. It's just pretend." _

"_I don't want to pretend." _

"_Scared you'll like it?")_

No. Not thinking about it.

It was nothing. A friendly dinner between colleagues. That was all.

They ate dinner and he told ridiculous, exaggerated stories from a book tour he'd done some five years ago, while she laughed and teased him. And she found herself relaxing, almost in spite of herself, because this was familiar, their usual banter. The stir-fry was good—Castle was a surprisingly good cook, she realized.

"How did you learn to cook so well, Castle?"

He shrugged a little as he rinsed their dishes.

Kate averted her eyes from his forearms, bared with his sleeves rolled up, and she _wasn't_ noticing the way the muscles moved with every movement as he worked. She wasn't noticing. She wasn't looking. And her mouth had gone dry because she was just thirsty. She took an over-large gulp of water and then was nicely—thankfully—distracted as she nearly choked on it. She coughed a little and avoided his glance. _Get it together, Kate._

"I pretty much taught myself after Alexis came along and I realized that I'd better learn to cook or she was going to grow up on canned soup and easy mac and takeout. And then I realized that I rather enjoy cooking and as Alexis got older, we cooked together." He smiled as he added, "And now sometimes, we challenge each other to cook-offs; she makes something new and I make something new and we decide which is better."

She had to smile, almost in spite of herself. This side of him—the way he acted when he was at home, the way he was with Alexis and, yes, with his mother—still surprised her. She'd seen glimpses of it before but it was a lot more evident now and hard to miss, staying at the loft as she was. She liked this side of him.

"Who tends to win these cook-offs?"

"I do," he said immediately.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Liar."

He huffed an exaggerated sigh. "All right, fine, she usually wins. But that's only because she has the most pedestrian taste in food!" he defended himself. "I can't believe a child of mine could have been born with so little creativity when it comes to food."

She wrinkled her nose. "Creativity in food should only go so far then it just gets disgusting."

"Hey, I'll have you know my s'morelet was delicious!"

"What on earth is a s'morelet?"

"Oh, it's my last invention. I combined two of my favorite foods, an omelet and a s'more so I put chocolate, marshmallows, and a graham cracker inside an omelet—a s'morelet," he explained with as much pride as if he were announcing the invention of the wheel.

She made a face. "That sounds…"

"Inspired."

"No."

"Scrumptious."

"No. Revolting."

"Don't knock it 'til you try it, Beckett. You never know."

She waved a fork at him in a mock threatening gesture. "If you make a s'morelet for breakfast tomorrow, I'll dump it over your head."

"That would be a terrible waste of good food, Beckett. Don't you know there are starving children in Africa?"

Her smile faded as she froze for a moment, swamped with a memory of her mom saying something similar to induce little Katie to eat her vegetables and clear off her plate. Her chest suddenly felt tight.

It was irrational and silly and she was overreacting—she _knew_ she was overreacting. She was just oversensitive to memories of her mom now that she had lost all the keepsakes she had that reminded her of her mom except for her mom's ring, no longer had her family photos to look at.

She felt off-balance, unsettled, with her predictable, organized life in shambles around her, and it made the walls behind which she normally kept her emotions over her mom weaker, revealing the chinks in her armor.

"Beckett?"

She blinked and pushed the emotion aside. She couldn't deal with it now, didn't want to deal with it, not with Castle around, watching her with that annoying, unblinking look that always gave her the uncomfortable sense that he wanted to know everything about her and he wasn't going to go away until he learned everything.

She turned away and made a production of wiping down the table with as much care as if she needed to ensure it was sterile enough to use as an autopsy table in a morgue.

He didn't pry. Surprisingly. Thankfully. She relaxed as he started telling funny stories of some of his mishaps in the kitchen when he was just starting to learn how to cook.

And everything was fine, normal, comfortable. Kate felt herself relaxing even further as they settled on the couch while he flicked on the TV.

"Anything you want to watch?" he asked.

"No, you can choose."

He flipped through various channels, not settling on anything for long. Kate was entirely unsurprised to find that he channel-surfed on the TV as restlessly as he always did on the radio.

"Wait. Stop," she blurted out as a few notes of the familiar theme song of _Temptation Lane_ began.

He did, turning to give her a look that made her cheeks flush a little. "Why, Detective Beckett, I never would have guessed that you liked to watch _Temptation Lane_."

"I don't," she denied immediately. Too quickly. "I just… I've heard of it and I'm curious." She inwardly winced. _Pathetic, Kate._ Couldn't she do any better than that?

He opened his mouth but she leveled a look at him and he closed his mouth without commenting, for once opting for discretion as the better part of valor.

"I don't mind watching an episode, as long as it's not one of the ones Mother is in," he agreed.

"Martha was on _Temptation Lane_?"

He nodded. "Years ago, just for a couple weeks." He smirked. "You wouldn't believe the things that happened to her character in the space of the few weeks she was on the show."

"Like what?"

"I think her character was kidnapped, buried alive, and nearly eaten by bears, among other things."

She laughed a little. "Almost being eaten by bears would certainly make for a cliffhanger ending."

He smirked at her. "So does that mean you think I should have Nikki almost get eaten by a bear?"

She laughed and tossed her napkin into his face. "How many bears have you seen roaming the streets of Manhattan?"

"She could get stuck in the zoo," he suggested.

She threw him a look. "No."

He pouted. "You're no fun, Beckett."

She only smirked. "Just shut up and let me watch."

He did.

She hadn't seen an episode of _Temptation Lane_ in a while but she wanted to watch it now, felt an odd sort of need to watch it.

She wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knee, as she curled up on the couch and let herself be drawn into the melodrama and the unreality of the lives its characters led.

And for a moment, she could almost feel the phantom warmth of a blanket around her, a comforting arm around her shoulders, the never-forgotten scent of a mix of perfume and lotion. She could almost hear the soft sound of laughter echoing in her mind from years ago.

A commercial came on and she blinked back to reality to see a tissue being offered to her.

She took it, ducking her head as she realized belatedly that a couple tears had escaped and slid down her cheeks. She wiped the tears away and kept her eyes trained on the TV, avoiding his gaze although she could feel him looking at her.

She found herself wishing her hair was long again so she could hide behind it. She was growing it out from last year but it was still nowhere near long enough to shield her expression.

"It's okay, Beckett," she heard him say. "The melodrama and the bad writing make me want to cry too."

She choked on a small watery laugh and turned her head to look at him.

A faint smile still curved his lips from his joke but his eyes were soft, serious, and so blue—from some corner of her mind, a line of poetry she'd read somewhere surfaced: _Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean_—and her breath stuttered in her chest.

And she found herself talking before she'd consciously decided to do so, something about his expression, his steady gaze, drawing the story out of her. "I was nine and I had to get my tonsils taken out," she began quietly, her eyes returning to the TV where the episode was continuing. "I was miserable. And my mom took time off of work and stayed with me and… and we cuddled up on the couch and watched episodes of _Temptation Lane_."

She trailed off, letting her eyes close for a second, and for that moment, she heard again in her mind the ghost of her mom's laugh, her mom's voice saying, "How about another episode, Katie, before your dad comes home and makes fun of us?"

She opened her eyes, her heart suddenly hurting, her throat tight, and she had to force herself to continue, not quite looking at him. "So every time I see it now, it makes me feel… like home and safe…" She blinked, sniffed, and used the tissue to swipe at her eyes again before she managed to meet his eyes again, forcing a small smile. "So now you know my dark secret. Judge away."

He gave her a faint smile that somehow managed to make her feel as if the sun had come out from behind the clouds and focused all its warmth on her. "No judging," he promised quietly, adding with a spark of his usual humor returning to his gaze, "My DVR would make yours look like _Masterpiece Theatre_, you can check."

She huffed a soft laugh. "I believe you."

She did. The man who could recite a litany of plot points from _General Hospital_, who had once gone on for almost ten minutes comparing the portrayal of vampires in the _Twilight_ series with their portrayal in _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_, was not one who had much of a leg to stand on in judging a fondness for _Temptation Lane_, however ridiculous the show might be.

And whatever Castle's faults, he didn't tend to be a hypocrite.

He was still smiling at her, his eyes so soft and so understanding that, not for the first time, she found it hard to believe that this was the same man who had spent the better part of the last year annoying her until she sometimes thought she could happily shoot him.

She blinked and looked away, lowering her feet to the floor and sitting up straighter in a mostly-unconscious way of exerting some control over herself. "Sorry. I didn't mean to…" she trailed off and made an awkward gesture with her hand. She hadn't meant to cry, hadn't meant to make things so serious. Hadn't meant to share the story of why she liked _Temptation Lane_ with him. (What _was_ it about him that made her tell him things anyway? She'd told him about her mother's murder and what had happened to her dad afterwards within a few weeks of meeting him and she'd never told anyone the story of what had happened to her family that soon after meeting them.)

"Don't worry about it, Beckett. After the last couple days, if anyone has a right to cry a little, it's you."

"I suppose. I just… I want my stuff back. I want my apartment back. I want my _life_ back!" She huffed out her breath in frustration, lifting a hand to run it through her hair. She turned her head to look at him. "I wish you had managed to shoot Dunn in the head. When I think about all the things I've lost, I want to shoot him myself."

She stopped and then sighed. "No, never mind. I don't wish that you'd killed him." No, she didn't wish that. She knew the weight of knowing you had taken a life, no matter how justified it might have been, and she didn't want him to bear that weight. Not him, with his childish exuberance and his willingness to believe in people.

"I'm sorry," he said after a moment, his voice quiet. "It's hard to lose so much of your things but Beckett, you will find a new apartment and hopefully you'll like it even more than you liked your old one. You can replace your clothes and most of your things. You still have your father's watch and your mother's ring. And you still have your memories; you haven't lost those and it's the memories attached to most of our things that make them important to us, what makes them keepsakes. The memories are what's important, like how you still remember what it felt like to watch _Temptation Lane_ with your mom." He paused and then added, his lips curving, "And if you want to watch _Temptation Lane_ for hours on end so you can feel at home, you're welcome to do so. Also if you ask, I'm sure Mother would be glad to regale you with stories from her few weeks on the show. The only hard part would be getting her to stop."

She choked on a laugh and she kind of hated that he could do that. He could enthrall her with his words—and his voice—she could just let his words wrap around her, comfort her, and then when it almost got to be too much, he could make her laugh.

He made her laugh—and that was really what made him so dangerous. He was irritating and childish and could be a jackass but he also made her laugh. He made things more _fun_ so she didn't drown in the darkness that was her job or the persistent ache of grief over her mother.

He made her want… things… made her want to believe in things. But that wasn't who she was, wasn't the way she lived. She didn't—she _couldn't_ believe too much, trust too much. Things happened, people died, people left and she was left behind in the ruins. Her world had fallen apart in an alley ten years ago and then what was left of it had drowned in a bottle for five years. And then later, the tentative beginnings of hope and dreams for the future had again been left in ruins around her when Will had left for bigger and better things in Boston and now her entire life had basically exploded around her.

It was safer not to want, safer not to hope, safer not to trust. Safer not to take risks.

"Castle, I…"

_I can't do this. _

But she couldn't say that because after all, he hadn't really done or said anything. Nothing had happened.

Nothing was _going_ to happen.

"I'm tired. Night, Castle."

She fled.

And she couldn't even pretend that fleeing—running away—wasn't exactly what she was doing.

Richard Castle terrified her and made her a coward and really, she thought she could almost hate him for it.

_~To be continued…~_

* * *

_A/N 2: The line of poetry Kate thinks of is by Lord Byron, from his poem "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage." _


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Do wishes count?

Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, for reading.

A rather short chapter this time but the next chapter is just about ready and will hopefully be posted tomorrow or in the next couple days.

* * *

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 3_

Thank God Alexis was home for dinner the next night.

No more cozy dinners for two, Kate promised herself. If there was any indication that a dinner for two would happen again, she'd make plans with Lanie. Or at least tell Castle that she'd made plans with Lanie and then eat dinner somewhere. Somewhere that was not the loft, somewhere away from Castle with his eyes and his humor and his kindness and his—she cut off the thought. Listing the things she liked about him was not helping.

"Alexis, come set the table for dinner," Castle said.

Alexis looked up from her textbook. "Oh, actually, Dad, I was thinking I might eat dinner in my room. I have a big French test tomorrow and I need to study."

Castle pulled a face of exaggerated dismay for Kate's benefit. "My own daughter prioritizes studying for a test over spending time with her father. Clearly, I have failed as a parent."

Kate shook her head, biting her lip to keep from laughing at his theatrics, and found herself offering without consciously deciding to do so, "Actually, Alexis, if you can afford to take a break from studying for dinner, afterwards, if you want, I can help you study. I took French for 3 years in high school. It's been a little while but I think I still remember enough."

"Oh, really, Detective Beckett?" Alexis started to smile and then hesitated, glancing at Castle, before saying, "That would be nice. It's always easier to study a language with someone else around to practice with, but are you sure you don't mind? I mean, I don't want to impose. You've been at work all day and…"

Kate smiled. Really, Alexis was a sweetheart. "It's fine, Alexis. I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it."

"That would be great. Thanks, Detective," Alexis smiled.

Kate returned the smile and relaxed. Big Castle was dangerous. Little Castle was safe.

Kate stayed mostly quiet during dinner. Alexis did most of the talking, telling a story involving some friends, while Castle listened and also didn't say much beyond occasional questions and teasing comments—in what Kate was sure could probably be classified a minor miracle. Except she got the distinct impression it wasn't. Alexis was too natural about it, so utterly unconscious of Castle's uncharacteristic silence for it to actually be uncharacteristic.

He just listened, his eyes warm and soft and loving as they rested on Alexis, and Kate had the sudden sense that he'd momentarily forgotten that she was even there. He was entirely focused on Alexis.

(And it should have been crazy but Kate was suddenly convinced that this—the fact that Castle could forget about her for a moment because he was so focused on his daughter—might actually be one of the things she liked best about him.)

A strand of Alexis's red hair fell forward, almost into her pasta, as she gestured about something and his reaction was immediate, brushing the girl's hair away from her face (and away from her plate). Alexis didn't even blink, only went on talking, clearly thinking nothing of the gesture.

Kate kept her head lowered as she ate, trying to keep her gaze lowered but her eyes kept flitting between Alexis and Castle, drawn in spite of herself to the tenderness in Castle's eyes as he watched Alexis, the warmth in his voice when he spoke to Alexis.

Castle was so obviously devoted to Alexis; it was heartwarming to see. And she… And nothing. Kate cut off that train of thought. She wasn't going to think about it. Wasn't going to so much as acknowledge the dangerous warmth in her chest as she watched Castle and Alexis.

Alexis ended her story and then looked over at Kate, color rushing to her cheeks. "Oh, Detective, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to just run on like that."

Kate waved a dismissive hand. "It's fine, Alexis. I liked hearing your story." Her smile softened a little. "High school drama. It brought back memories." It had. Of staying out past curfew and then trying to sneak back inside—of giggling and whispers in corners with her gang of friends—of arguing with her then-best friend Madison Queller over something stupid—Kate didn't even remember what anymore—when they both knew that it was really because Brent Edwards, the boy they both liked, had kissed Maddy. Of ditching her own prom to go to a poetry slam instead. Kate blinked, returning to the present. "You tell a good story, Alexis."

Beside her, Castle puffed out his chest a little. "She gets it from me, a born storyteller," he boasted. "Also, I stressed story development from before she learned how to talk." He tossed a proud grin at Alexis. "It's no wonder that 'denouement' was her first word."

Kate had to smile. "Really?"

Alexis snorted. "He's lying. Don't believe him, Detective. My first word was 'dada.'"

Castle put on an expression of exaggerated affront. "Are you calling your own father a liar, Alexis?"

The girl grinned at him. "Yup."

He pouted and Kate laughed.

Alexis gave him a cheeky wink before addressing Kate. "Gram told me that he called her one day babbling and almost incoherent with excitement and when she finally figured out why, it was because I'd called him 'Dada' and he got so excited he called Gram up almost immediately. She said he was practically crying."

"I was not crying," Castle insisted. "And a baby's first word is a hugely important milestone for intellectual development. So there."

Alexis patted her dad's hand. "I think it's sweet."

"It's an adorable story," Kate agreed, sternly controlling her expression as she added teasingly, "In fact, it's so adorable I think I'll have to tell Esposito and Ryan about it, how you blubbered like a baby when Alexis first called you daddy."

"I was not blubbering like a baby! You're both being mean. And just for that, I think I'm not going to let you have dessert."

Alexis gave him a look of wide-eyed pleading. "But I have my big French test tomorrow and you always say that sugar gives you energy to help you stay up and write and so I need sugar to help me stay up and study for my test."

Kate suppressed a smile. Oh, the girl was good.

Castle narrowed his eyes at Alexis. "You," he said, pointing his fork at her, "are not supposed to use my own words against me."

Kate hid her grin by taking a drink of water. "I think she's got you beat, Castle."

He threw up his hands in an exaggerated gesture of surrender. "Oh, if both of you are ganging up on me. A wise man knows when he's outnumbered."

Kate snorted. "You're not wise; you're just whipped."

He shrugged a little as he got up, taking their plates to the sink. "My daughter is irresistible." And then—of course—he ruined it by adding, "She takes after me in that."

"Funny, I never have any trouble resisting you," Kate shot back. (_Liar_, a voice in her mind spoke up, which Kate ignored.)

Castle brought back the specialty cupcakes which he'd bought earlier that day and Kate turned to Alexis. "Why don't we get started on studying while we eat dessert? It seems fitting since after all, the French are known for their desserts."

Alexis nodded and immediately stood up to grab her textbook. "_Très bien_."

Kate waved a hand in a shoo-ing gesture at Castle. "Now, go away, Castle. Alexis needs to concentrate and I know from experience how big a distraction you can be."

He huffed but didn't otherwise comment, only dropped a kiss on Alexis's hair with a "Don't study too hard, sweetie," before retreating into his office.

Kate ignored the warmth in her chest at his easy, unthinking affection for his daughter as she pulled Alexis's textbook closer to her and smiled at the girl. "Where do you want to start?" she asked, in French.

Alexis answered in the same language and they dove right in, starting with some basic conversational practice and then reviewing verb conjugations. Kate was pleasantly surprised to find how much she remembered and how quickly the language returned to her but it did return. She got the distinct impression that Alexis was probably better at French than she was but Kate could at least keep up and had the benefit of consulting Alexis's textbook when she wasn't sure of herself.

Kate wasn't sure how much time had passed before Alexis stretched and said, "Okay, I think I'm ready now."

"I'm sure you'll ace the test," Kate agreed, glancing at her watch and was surprised to realize that more than two and a half hours had gone by.

"Thank you so much, Detective Beckett," Alexis smiled. "This really helped."

Kate returned the girl's smile. "_De rien_. And call me Kate, Alexis. You don't need to keep calling me Detective or even Beckett."

"Oh, well, Dad doesn't even call you Kate; he always calls you Beckett so I didn't know…"

_Not always_, Kate thought, suddenly hearing Castle's frantic voice in her head. (_Kate! Kate! Are you in there? Kate, you're alive._)

"Beckett is what people call me at work. I'm not at work when I'm here. You can call me Kate, Alexis." Kate glanced over at Castle's open office door, winking at Alexis before she added, raising her voice deliberately, "Besides, I like you more than I like your dad."

"Hey! I heard that!" Castle protested from his office, coming into view a minute later.

Kate sternly kept her lips from twitching as she gave Castle a look of exaggerated innocence. "What? It's the truth. I do like Alexis more than you. She's not annoying. Also, she's cuter than you are."

Castle made a face at her. "See if I ever pull you out of a burning building again, Beckett."

Alexis giggled and Castle turned a look of exaggerated betrayal on her. "And you, daughter, are supposed to defend me, not laugh at me."

Alexis shrugged. "Kate's right. I do think I'm cuter than you are and less annoying," she said, the faintest smirk playing around the corners of her lips.

Castle mimed being struck in the chest. "How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is, to have a thankless child!" he declaimed dramatically.

"Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty according to my bond; nor more nor less,"* Alexis returned, not skipping a beat.

Kate gaped at the girl. "Wow, Alexis!"

Castle abandoned his dramatic pose to nod approvingly at Alexis. "That's my girl." He looked over at Kate. "Don't look so surprised, Beckett. Mother's an actor and I'm a writer; familiarity with Shakespeare is a requirement in the Castle household. Mother had Alexis memorizing passages from Shakespeare in order to learn proper elocution almost from the moment Alexis learned how to talk."

Alexis grinned. "One summer in the Hamptons, Grams went through a phase where she quoted Shakespeare every chance she got and we had to come up with an appropriate Shakespearean response. It had to be from the same play and preferably from the same Act too."

Kate had to smile. "That sounds like fun."

"Sure, if by fun, you mean annoying," Castle interjected. "I would ask my mother what she wanted to eat for dinner and she would answer with something like 'Eight wild boars roasted whole at breakfast, but twelve persons there.'"**

Kate had to laugh. "'All the world's a stage,'" she quoted at him.

He shot her a look. "Oh, too easy, Beckett. 'And all the men and women merely players…'"

Kate and Alexis both chimed in so they all finished together in slightly messy unison, "'They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages.'"***

They finished with shared grins while Castle reached out to "feed the birds" with Alexis.

Castle grinned at Kate. "I guess I won't kick you out after all since you've passed the Castle test of being able to quote passages from Shakespeare."

Alexis laughed and Kate made a face at him. "You didn't tell me there'd be a test."

He shrugged. "You were almost blown up," he said lightly. "I was trying to be nice but then you started being mean to me so I reinstituted the test. And now you've passed it."

Kate shook her head but couldn't quite hold back her smile.

Alexis smiled and stood up. "I have some more homework to finish up. Thanks, again, for helping me study, Det—I mean, Kate."

Kate smiled at Alexis. "Anytime, Alexis."

Alexis gave her dad a quick smile and a kiss on the cheek before she gathered up her textbook and disappeared up the stairs.

Castle watched her go with the faint, soft smile that Kate often saw when he talked about Alexis.

"She's great," Kate observed quietly.

He blinked and turned to look at her, his smile deepening. "Yeah, I know," he agreed. "I lucked out with her."

Kate thought about the way he was with his daughter, thought about the way Alexis was with him. "No, I don't think it is just luck," she told him. "You're a good dad, Castle."

He stared, surprise written all over his face. She felt a vague sense of guilt squirm through her. Surely, she had praised him before so he wouldn't look at her as if she'd just said something utterly unprecedented.

He let out a breath. "I try," was all he said, quietly. "She deserves the best."

She smiled, feeling that dangerous warmth in her chest again, and hurriedly changed the subject. "Was 'denouement' really one of her first words?"

He grinned. "Are you doubting my honesty or my memory?"

"Both," she quipped.

"I remember just about everything when it comes to Alexis. And 'denouement' was probably her second word, although she pronounced it more like 'noo-mah' but it was close enough," he finished with a reminiscent smile. "I'd been talking to her explaining story structure," he added, "I don't claim that she really understood much of what I said but when I said 'denouement,' she repeated it as 'noo-mah.'"

Kate laughed quietly. "Did you cry?" she asked teasingly.

"I did not. I will admit that when she first said 'dada,' I _may_ have had manly tears in my eyes but I did not actually cry."

"Manly tears, right," Kate repeated sardonically.

He only made a face at her while Kate laughed and tried not to think about how much she liked Castle when he was in his father mode, when he talked about Alexis with so much pride and so much love in his eyes and in his voice. Tried not to think about how endearing and how… attractive… this side of him was.

He was her friend. Her colleague at work, even her work partner. But that was all.

_~To be continued…~_

* * *

*_King Lear_, Act I, scene 4

**_Antony and Cleopatra_, Act 2, scene 1

***_As You Like It_, Act 2, scene 7


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

Author's Note: Happy Friday, everyone! And in honor of "Castle" being renewed for Season 8, I give you another chapter.

Finally getting to the episode "fixes," so expect some familiar dialogue. The first of what will be 3 chapters based on 2x19, "Wrapped Up In Death." My first attempt at diverging from "Castle" episodes so we'll see how this goes…

* * *

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 4_

It had been more than a week since her apartment had exploded and Kate was still staying at the loft.

Worse, Kate was becoming depressingly sure that there was no way her stay at the loft was going to be ending any time soon.

A week of wrangling with the insurance company had only gotten her the company's rather grudging assurance that she would be receiving the insurance check (for rather less than she'd hoped for but more than the company had initially wanted to pay) in a month or so and no amount of arguing had made the company agree to expedite sending the check.

Besides, there were not exactly a plethora of apartments that were immediately ready to be moved into—the end of March was not a common time to move—that were a) decent places to live and b) within her price range and c) not too far away from the precinct. She had talked to Castle's realtor but Megan, while helpful, had not sounded very optimistic about Kate's chances at finding a new place, either to sublet or to rent, quickly.

Kate had spent the afternoon going to see three apartments which she'd found through her own searches, all of which were immediately available, but the afternoon's visits had been less than encouraging, to say the least. The first place had been in a building that looked as if it should have been demolished for safety reasons at least twenty years ago and Kate had felt the need to take a very long, hot shower and possibly scrub herself with a disinfectant after spending less than twenty minutes in the place. The second apartment had been in a better building but it had been approximately the size of a closet. Standing in the middle of the room, Kate had been able to touch both walls just by holding her arms out straight. It was billed as a studio which had translated into having the toilet and a small shower in the corner of the room with no internal walls around them, and one sink, apparently intended to double as both the bathroom sink and the kitchen sink. The third and last place had been a basement apartment, more spacious than the second place certainly, but the ceiling had been so low that Kate's head had been brushing against the ceiling when she wore her heels.

Never mind, Kate told herself. It had just been an unlucky day.

And anyway, she would be fine staying at the loft. There was absolutely no reason she couldn't continue to stay there for another couple weeks. She could resist Castle; of course she could. (There was nothing to resist. There was nothing going on. He was her friend and her colleague. That was all.) And Alexis was almost always around too. And Martha was there nearly every day as well.

He still annoyed her at times but less often than she would have expected. And he had been surprisingly good about giving her space when she needed it. When they weren't at the precinct, he spent at least an hour every day in his office ostensibly writing. And she had free run of his extensive library and he tried not to interrupt her when she was reading except for meals or to mention if he was going out for any reason.

All in all, Kate was comfortable. She was starting to feel… settled again, fitting the pieces of her life back together. A little disjointedly, given her lack of an apartment and her still severely-limited wardrobe, but she was getting there, no longer felt quite so off-balance.

She had settled into a routine, of sorts, while staying at the loft and she was comfortable there. A little too comfortable, but she tried not to think about that. Anyway, it wasn't as if she had anywhere else to go. Comfortable or not, she was rather stuck.

Kate opened the door to the loft, resisting the sudden impulse to announce, "I'm home." The loft wasn't home. It was just where she was staying.

She looked around. Castle was nowhere in sight but his office door was closed.

Kate put her coat away in the front closet and moved to the kitchen to get a glass of water, pausing to stare in confusion at what had to be at least five dozen tomatoes sitting in a box on the floor. What on earth…

Footsteps came clattering down the stairs and Kate looked up to see Alexis.

Alexis smiled. "Hi, Kate. How was the apartment search?"

Kate grimaced. "No luck today. Anyway, what are you doing with so many tomatoes? Are you planning on setting up a tomato stand or something?"

Alexis laughed. "No. It's for a science project." She paused. "Actually, Kate, after dinner, do you want to help?"

"Sure. What's the project about?"

"We're studying the practical application of science at school. I chose forensics, specifically the physics of spatter patterns."

"And I'm guessing the tomatoes are going to be your victims."

Alexis grinned. "Sacrifices must be made in the name of scientific experimentation."

Kate laughed. "Well said, Miss Castle."

"I was thinking of ordering in for dinner, maybe pizza, if that's okay with you since the experiment will take over most of the kitchen."

"Pizza sounds fine, Alexis. What do you want me to do?"

"Well, it's going to get messy so you might want to change and then you can wear an apron and maybe make yourself some protective gear using some trash bags or something," Alexis suggested.

Kate nodded. "I'll go change then. You can order the pizza and then when I come down, we can start getting the kitchen ready for the great tomato slaughter."

Alexis agreed and Kate went upstairs to change into the sweats and t-shirt that were serving as her pajamas. They were new—most of the clothes she had right now were new—and considered for half a second changing into the pair of Castle's old sweatpants that had shrunk in the wash and which he'd given her the first night immediately after the bombing, along with one of his old t-shirts, but no. She absolutely could not go back downstairs where Castle's daughter was waiting wearing Castle's clothes. (For that matter, she didn't know why she still had Castle's clothes since she'd gone out and bought her own except that a small, mostly unacknowledged part of her wanted to keep them. They were… comfortable, so large she was swimming in them, and soft from repeated washings. And they smelled rather like Castle, the annoying internal voice in her head suggested. _Shut up, that had nothing to do with it._)

Most of her salvageable clothes were still in the process of being cleaned and aired out. She'd gone on a couple shopping trips, once with Lanie and once with Alexis, to buy enough clothes and shoes, to get her through a few weeks, but her wardrobe was still severely limited.

Kate pushed aside thoughts about all she'd lost and worries over the apartment situation. She didn't want to impose on Castle for long and she was afraid that she was already getting too comfortable in the loft but she had no choice and she _hated_ feeling so powerless over her own life.

But Alexis was waiting for her and had asked her for help on a science project and Kate felt her spirits lifting almost in spite of herself. Funny, how just being asked for help, being made a part of a school project, could make her feel so much better. Kate was so used to living alone, self-sufficient and independent, and she'd always thought she preferred it that way. Her self-contained, organized life where she needed no one else and no one else needed her or expected anything of her outside of work.

Staying at the loft, she didn't have the option of retreating into solitude—well, she supposed she could have hidden out in the guest bedroom but that would be rude and ungrateful so she couldn't do that. So she joined Castle and Alexis and Martha, on the evenings Martha was around, for dinner and remained downstairs afterwards and while they each occasionally did their own things after dinner—Castle writing (or playing games on his computer, she suspected) and Alexis doing homework and Kate reading—for the most part, they all congregated downstairs. Like a… a family. And Kate hadn't really been a part of a family for ten years.

She had always told herself she liked her life the way it was. She had her dad and saw him on a regular basis; she had friends in Lanie and the boys and over the last year, in Castle; and she had her work.

She'd always thought that was enough. But then her apartment had exploded, leaving her independent, neatly-compartmentalized life in ruins. And now she was staying here, at the loft, where she had much less privacy and almost none of her old things but she also had… people who welcomed her presence, people who cared about her.

She had lost the life she'd made for herself, lost most of what she owned—but in some mostly unacknowledged corner of her mind, she was starting to think that in a strange way, she might have gained more than she'd lost after all…

Kate went downstairs to see that Alexis had already gotten started, covering the floor and the sides of the kitchen island and the cabinets with plastic sheeting. Kate joined in, helping Alexis tape the plastic sheeting into place.

It was a little while before they were finished, ending with the kitchen almost entirely covered in plastic and leaving only a path to the refrigerator.

Pizza arrived almost the minute after they finished and Alexis ran to the door to get it.

Kate headed to Castle's office door to fetch him but Alexis stopped her. "No, Kate, don't!"

Kate stopped and turned to look at Alexis questioningly. "I thought your dad would want dinner."

Alexis shook her head as she returned with the pizza. "Dad's in the Vortex. He won't want to be disturbed."

"What's the vortex?"

Alexis smiled as she sat down on the couch with the pizza. "It's what I call it when Dad goes into one of his intense writing binges. Normally, Dad keeps his office door open even when he's writing, you've probably noticed. And he's usually pretty good about interruptions when he's writing. But when he really needs to concentrate, usually when he needs to write an intense scene, he closes his office door and that's a sign that he shouldn't be disturbed unless there's a fire or some other threat of imminent bodily injury. I named it the Vortex."

Kate had to smile as she took a slice of pizza. "You are definitely your father's daughter."

"Dad can be a little distracted when he's writing or thinking about writing but it's usually not bad. When I was little, he was always careful not to go into the Vortex unless he'd gotten a babysitter for me. In the last couple years since I've gotten too old for babysitters, he's still been pretty good about not going into the Vortex often. Actually, I think the last time Dad went into the Vortex was when he was writing Derrick Storm's death scene for _Storm Fall_."

"I hope this doesn't mean he's killing off Nikki Heat," Kate said lightly.

"Dad isn't going to kill off Nikki," Alexis assured her with sudden seriousness. "He told me he wouldn't when I asked."

Kate turned to look at Alexis. "You asked if he would kill off Nikki? When? Why?"

Alexis looked suddenly uncomfortable but then after a moment, she answered, "I asked him last summer when he… uh… when you were so angry at Dad."

Kate stiffened a little at the mention of the last summer, the stark reminder of what had happened when she had trusted Castle just a little. She might have forgiven him after his apology—and after what he'd done to help catch her mother's killer—but it was another example of why she didn't trust people easily, only so far but no further.

"What did he say?" Kate finally asked carefully.

Alexis kept her eyes focused on her pizza as she answered, a little uncertainly, "He said that he'd killed off Derrick Storm because he'd run out of things to say about Derrick but that he'd never be able to actually kill off Nikki because he knew he'd never run out of things to say about Nikki."

Kate suddenly remembered Castle's voice saying, coolly, _There really wasn't enough to the character of Nikki Heat for more than one novel anyway. _Somewhere deep inside her, in a place that Kate hadn't acknowledged or thought about since then, a little wound that had been festering since he'd said that healed. The words had cut, all the more after the dedication that had made her heart flutter and taken her breath away. They might have ostensibly been fighting about Nikki but Kate knew it was also personal and when he'd said that there wasn't much more to Nikki's character, Kate had felt like he'd told her that there wasn't more to _her_ either, that all he'd ever really wanted from her was a one night stand, for her to be a notch on his bedpost, and nothing more. That just because he said she was extraordinary didn't mean he actually cared about her.

But he'd told Alexis last summer that he'd never run out of things to say about Nikki—and she remembered him saying too that he always told Alexis the truth.

_I meant it. You are extraordinary. _

He thought she was extraordinary. He thought she was extraordinary and he'd saved her life, twice, and he'd opened up his home to her, trusted her.

_He cares about you, Kate. _

"Oh," was all Kate could say, lamely.

There was a moment of silence before Alexis said, rather obviously changing the subject and suddenly looking mischievous, an expression that made her resemblance to her father much more noticeable, "When Dad's in the Vortex, it's like his brain stops being connected to his ears so he doesn't hear what people say to him. One time a couple years ago, my friend Paige came over and I told him that she and I were going up to my room to smoke cigarettes and he just muttered, 'have fun.'"

Kate laughed. "Did he ever remember what you'd said?"

Alexis grinned rather wickedly. "No. A couple days later, I told him again that I was going to smoke and when he flipped out, I told him with complete honesty that he hadn't had any problem with my smoking before. You should have seen his face."

Kate burst out laughing. "You are terrible, Alexis! And brilliant."

Alexis smirked. "I have to keep Dad on his toes somehow. Besides, he always finds a way to get back at me for any tricks I play on him."

Kate grinned. "You might be more mature than he is but you are definitely your father's child."

Alexis returned Kate's grin and they finished eating their pizza while talking lightly about other things.

Afterwards, Kate looked over at Alexis. "So, how do you want to get started?"

"Well, looking into spatter patterns, I thought I'd start with what happens when tomatoes get dropped from some height and then I was going to move on to comparing that to when tomatoes get smashed."

"Sounds like you've got it all planned."

Alexis smiled, arranging a poster board with concentric circles drawn on it on the floor. "I was thinking you could drop the tomatoes since you're tall."

Kate laughed. "Yeah, I get that a lot. Okay, dropping tomatoes it is."

Alexis grinned, slipping on a pair of protective goggles before she knelt on the floor. She looked up at Kate. "Okay, start dropping tomatoes."

Kate lost count of how many tomatoes she dropped from various heights, finding Alexis's enthusiasm and excitement as she squealed and commented aloud on each of the findings to be infectious. Kate smiled fondly down at Alexis's red head. The girl was so mature and responsible that Kate often marveled that Castle could have raised such a responsible adult when he himself was still such a child in so many ways but then she saw Alexis at times like this and it was clear that there was a lot of Castle in Alexis.

After a little while, Alexis finally called a halt, saying she thought she had enough of the spatter patterns of tomatoes being dropped and could start on tomatoes being smashed.

Alexis grinned at Kate. "Thanks for helping, Kate. I appreciate it."

"Oh, it's been fun. Do you mind if I stick around and watch the continued slaughter?"

"Feel free."

Alexis centered a fresh poster board on the floor, settling on the floor with a small mallet.

Alexis brought the mallet down squarely on the hapless tomato just as Kate heard Castle's office door click open behind them.

Castle appeared, making a bee-line for the refrigerator before he saw them and stopped, changing direction, his eyes taking in Kate, wearing an apron and with a trash bag tied in front of her like a long skirt, and then moving onto Alexis, on the floor in an old raincoat and protective goggles, smashing a tomato.

"What are you doing?" he asked, suppressed laughter in his tone and crinkling his eyes.

Seeing that Alexis was quite engrossed in her tomato destruction, Kate answered, "Alexis is studying the practical applications of science, specifically forensics and the physics of spatter patterns."

"And she asked you to help?"

There was something in his tone and in his expression that Kate couldn't decipher—was he upset or feeling left out since she guessed that Castle had always been the one to help Alexis with her science projects before?—and she felt herself flushing a little. "Well, she said you were in the Vortex and shouldn't be disturbed."

He laughed a little. "The Vortex, right. I forgot her name for my intense writing bubble."

At that moment, Kate's phone rang and she turned away. "Beckett."

Castle handed her a pad of paper and a pen without being asked and she nodded her thanks at him as she jotted down the address.

"Castle, we've got a body." She paused, glancing at herself as she untied the trash bag from around her waist and took off the apron. "I need to change before we go out. Alexis, will you be all right if both your dad and I leave?"

Alexis glanced up with a quick smile. "Go ahead. Murder is more important than my science project. I'll be fine."

Kate hesitated. "If you're sure."

Castle was the one who spoke up. "Go change, Beckett. Alexis knows she can call us or my mother if she needs anything."

"Right. Of course." And as young as Alexis was, she was nothing if not responsible. She could take care of herself and it was a secure building.

Kate and Castle were out of the loft and in her car on the way to the scene within 20 minutes.

"Castle?"

"What?"

"You don't mind that I was helping Alexis with her science project, do you?"

He turned to stare at her. "Mind? No, of course not. I appreciate that you helped her when I was busy. I just wanted to say that you can say no when she asks you for help; I don't want her to bother you or anything."

Kate threw him a teasing smile. "I've told you before, Castle. Big Castle is the one who's a bother. Little Castle is a pleasure and could never be a bother."

"I'll forgive you for that only because you're being nice to Alexis."

She laughed and shook her head as she parked her car at the scene, marked out with the flashing lights and crime scene tape.

The victim had been… killed by a falling gargoyle. Kate blinked. That was new. She suppressed a grimace. New and very bloody.

"Speaking of spatter patterns," she commented to Castle as they neared. "I guess I don't need to ask about cause of death."

Kate quietly absorbed the information they had about the victim and the door that had been tampered with before heading inside to look at his apartment.

"Ooh, maybe Alexis did it," Castle suggested on their way up to the victim's apartment. "She is studying spatter patterns. Maybe she decided to make her science experiment real, add authenticity to the results."

Kate shook her head, biting back a smile at his inappropriate levity. "Says the man who spends his life thinking about how to kill people. And Alexis has an alibi since I was with her all evening."

"Maybe you're in on it too since you were, after all, helping her with her experiment," Castle shot back immediately.

Kate couldn't help a soft laugh that she was promptly ashamed of and threw him a quelling look as they entered Will Medina's apartment. "Focus, Castle. Still a crime scene." And wasn't sure if she said it more to scold him or herself.

Drat the annoying man for distracting her and making her laugh anyway.

But in spite of herself, the weight she always felt from the knowledge and awareness of a lost life felt a little lighter, less oppressive. And she couldn't help but remember that as much as it irritated her, Castle _helped_. He lightened the load with his levity, as inappropriate as it was. (And yes, his annoying little theories sometimes ended up being helpful too, even if she thought she'd rather go without coffee for a year than admit it to him.)

He made her _smile_. And after a day that had been tiring and discouraging, in spite of the pleasant interlude of an evening spent with Alexis, and was now ending with death and murder, being able to smile was a gift.

_~To be continued…~_

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A/N 2: Resolving the little argument from 2x5, "When the Bough Breaks," because I wanted to (and I was a little annoyed at Castle for saying what he did.)


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Does anyone actually think that I own "Castle"?

Author's Note: Happy _Castle_ Season Finale Monday!

A short chapter this time around. I thought "Wrapped Up in Death" was one of the most hilarious episodes in S2 and the scenes involving Castle's mummy curse were priceless so I really don't think I managed to do justice to this one but oh well… Some familiar dialogue ahead.

* * *

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 5_

When Castle had thought more than a week ago that he was doomed, he really hadn't expected the universe to apply the expression so literally.

A mummy's curse, seriously? If it had been happening to just about anyone else, Castle would have thought that this case was going to end up one of his favorite cases of all time because any case that involved mummies and curses and ancient Mayan death threats and trips to the museum was obviously awesome but no, the possibly-being-cursed-to-die thing was really taking the fun out of the case.

Not that he believed in curses.

He didn't.

Really.

The paper cut was just an accident, one that happened on a fairly regular basis since he was, after all, a writer who went through a lot of paper.

The chair was an old one. Never mind that the chair had always seemed perfectly solid before.

He didn't believe in curses, from mummies or otherwise.

He did believe in coffee.

He glanced at Beckett who was staring at the murder board the way she did when she was at a loss, as if she expected the board to talk to her and tell her who the killer was. Ryan was checking on the alibis for Medina's colleagues at the museum and Esposito was checking Medina's financials.

And he thought this might be a good time to make some coffee for himself and for Beckett. He knew her and he wouldn't bet that Beckett would consent to leaving the precinct anytime soon. If it hadn't been for Captain Montgomery, he was quite sure that Beckett would probably happily set up camp inside the precinct and never leave whenever they had an active case. The rest of the world might operate according to things like business hours and week days when it came to providing information, but Kate Beckett didn't recognize such a thing as business hours or a Monday-through-Friday work week when it came to murder investigations. (And she tended to pout a little in the most adorable way whenever she had to wait for the next day for a response to a warrant to come through because of something like business hours.)

And when Beckett was restless and impatient because she was waiting for information, well, it was his mission in life to keep her caffeinated and amused.

So he would make her coffee.

Castle headed to the break room and the espresso machine that he greeted like the old friend that it was, putting in the coffee grounds and then holding a cup in place as he pressed the buttons to start the machine.

Only to startle back as the machine made a few odd noises and then started to shake.

Castle frowned, taking a careful step back, since he didn't like the noises the machine was making, and then there was a sound like an explosion and a puff of smoke billowed from the machine as the mug he'd placed on the machine shattered. He shrieked and automatically dove towards the table.

_Holy shit! _

Castle cautiously got to his feet, automatically picking up a broken piece of the mug that he'd placed on the machine, staring at the still-smoking machine.

Right on cue, Ryan, Esposito, and Beckett ran into the break room.

"What happened?" Beckett exclaimed.

Castle made a lame gesture with the hand that still held the broken mug. "I don't know! I was going to make a coffee and the cappuccino machine started shaking and just as I hit the deck, it exploded!" His voice was more shaken up than he would have liked it, betraying his racing heart.

"You could have been killed!"

Castle shot a glare at Ryan. _Tell me something I don't know, Detective Obvious. _"I know!" Of course he knew! He was the one that had almost died!

There was a moment of silence—good, acknowledge his near brush with death with the reverence it deserved—and then the boys and Beckett started to snigger.

Wait—what—they—oh, he was going to kill them.

"Oh. Okay. Very funny. Yes, you got me," he admitted grudgingly.

Ryan and Beckett burst out laughing as Esposito mocked, "'I'm Castle. I don't believe in curses.'"

(He had not sounded that pompous! Castle glared at Espo and made a mental note not to lend Espo the Ferrari. Ever. And no more box seats to games. And he would have to find some way to get back at Espo.)

"What, did you get bomb disposal to rig something up?" he guessed.

Beckett was still laughing. "Yeah, it was all flash and no damage."

"And the chair?"

"Just pulled a couple of screws and let gravity do the rest."

Beckett exchanged high fives with Espo and Ryan, both of whom were still giggling like loons as they left the break room. "Night, guys."

Beckett leaned back against the door frame, regarding him with a grin that turned into a snicker and then became more full-blown laughter.

"You should have seen your face, Castle!" she gasped out.

And Castle abruptly lost the urge to glare, forgetting entirely his annoyance, while his heart that was still beating a little too fast stuttered in his chest.

Because Kate Beckett was smiling and laughing, her entire face lit up with amusement, her cheeks a little flushed from laughter, her eyes dancing—and god, was she beautiful. The sight of her right then—smiling so brightly, smiling in a way he didn't think he'd ever seen before. He didn't see Beckett smile nearly often enough to begin with and most of the time, her smiles were small, closed-mouth affairs and half-hidden with a duck of her head. Still beautiful but this—this wide, bright, unabashed smile that showed her teeth and crinkled her eyes—this smile could have rivaled the sun for brightness, so much so that he was half-surprised he hadn't been blinded just from looking at it.

And he didn't even care that she was laughing at his expense; he just liked seeing her smile, hearing her laugh.

He wanted to see Kate Beckett smiling like this every day for the rest of his life.

He would happily spend the rest of his life trying to make Kate Beckett smile.

Oh god, he was in love with her.

He loved her.

_Shit. _

He yanked his eyes away from her, suddenly terrified that she would see all he felt in his expression, to look around at the mess, the broken pieces of the mug, the coffee that had been spewed from the machine.

"I am not cleaning this up," he grumbled, trying to sound as annoyed as he had been.

She made a sound like a gurgle of quickly suppressed laughter and he looked at her, helpless to resist—not that he'd ever been good at resisting the urge to look at her—to see her biting her lip in a clear attempt to keep from laughing more. (She really, really needed to stop biting her lip like that.)

"Don't pout, Castle. It was just a prank."

(Oh god, she was gorgeous. And he loved her.)

He needed to get his game back. He needed to stop thinking about it.

He summoned every bit of acting ability he had—_thank you, mother_—and deliberately pouted more. "You're mean, Beckett. You could have given me a heart attack, scaring me like that."

She rolled her eyes, even as a smirk played around the corners of her lips. "I don't have that kind of luck."

"Well, if not for me, just think of how much paperwork you'll have to do if I die in the precinct because you and those two jokers decided to give me a heart attack. You don't want that, do you?"

"You know, the memory of your face might almost make doing all that paperwork worthwhile," she shot back.

He made a face at her. She grinned—and his silly, love-struck heart positively swooned a little—and pushed herself away from the door frame.

"Come on, Castle. I'll help you clean this up. It's the least I can do, right?"

He gave a huff of pretended annoyance. "I'll say."

She knelt reaching for one of the other pieces of the broken mug and he caught her wrist without even thinking about it. "No, don't."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What, Castle?"

He—uh—what—his brain blanked for a moment as he stared at his hand holding her wrist, every nerve in his body suddenly seeming to have taken up residence in his fingers where they were touching her. She had such slender wrists, he noted a little absently, fine-boned and delicate, completely belying the strength that he knew she had. (He really shouldn't touch her. At all. Not when even this simple, fairly platonic gesture of holding her wrist undid him so completely. The skin of her wrist was soft and smooth and only made him wonder if her skin would be so soft and smooth everywhere—yes, he was sure it would be—and he wanted to tug her into him, against him, so he could kiss her, touch her… everywhere…)

She jerked her wrist out of his grip, abruptly breaking the spell, and he found his voice, remembering what he'd been about to say.

"You'll cut your hand," he managed to say, wondering if it sounded as lame in her ears as it did to him. It was the truth but so much not what he really wanted to say. The words he really wanted to say were crowding into his throat, jostling for precedence—things like _I love you, I want to kiss you, let me touch you, I love you, just give me a chance, Kate, I love you—_but he swallowed them all back.

"Oh. Thanks," she said rather awkwardly.

He abruptly scooted away from her, suddenly needing to put some distance between them before he did something irredeemably stupid like kiss her, and stood up to grab some paper towels. He dampened the paper towels and handed them to her. "Here, use this."

"Thanks."

He turned away and busied himself wiping down the counter and the machine itself. "I'm a dad; you don't know how many glasses Alexis broke when she was little and she cut herself a couple times so I'm used to being careful around broken glass," he explained, trying to sound normal and unaffected.

"Well, I think I've got it all and I didn't cut myself so you can stop worrying. Come on, Castle, I think you've cleaned up enough. The cleaning crew can handle the rest of it. I'll drive."

He glanced at her as they left the precinct, cautious and tentative because he was _in love with her_—his gut clenched up, again, at the thought because he knew, absolutely knew, that if he said anything, she would run from it, from him, and he was painfully certain that she didn't love him. Yet. All he hoped for was that she'd give him a chance—but his optimistic heart had already fallen hard. (_Oh god, this could end so badly_.)

He fell back on silliness, retreating into his default of hiding behind humor. "You sure you want to let me into your car if the mummy's going to come after me?"

She threw him a laughing glance. "Don't worry, Castle. I'm armed. If the mummy comes to get you, I'll shoot it for you."

(There was possibly something wrong with him that he found her saying that to be so hot.) "Do you suppose mummies work on the same principle as zombies, that you need to aim for the head in order to kill them? Or are they more like vampires so you need to stake them through the heart? Or maybe they're like werewolves and you need a silver bullet," he suggested, playing up his curiosity and his enthusiasm and was rewarded with another of her small smiles, the one where she pretty clearly didn't want to smile but couldn't help it, the one that escaped in spite of her biting her lower lip.

"If the mummy does come after you, I guess we'll find out."

She was laughing at him. Again. Still. He could hear it in her voice, see it in the smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Oh, wait, Alexis! We missed dinner; was Alexis okay?" she suddenly asked, her smile abruptly gone.

And he loved her for this too, for her concern for Alexis, for the way she had stepped in to help Alexis study for a test or work on a science project.

It had surprised him, the way Beckett had so easily and willingly volunteered to help Alexis. If he'd thought about it, he would have expected that Beckett would try to keep some little distance between her and his family in this time while she was forced out of necessity to stay at the loft. Beckett was, after all, used to living alone. She valued her privacy and he knew how guarded she could be. He had practically needed to beg her to accompany him, Alexis, and his mother to Skye's concert after they had solved the murder of Hayley Blue and even so, she had demurred and refused to join them for a late dinner afterwards and not even his and Alexis's combined entreaties had moved her from her refusal.

But since she'd been staying at the loft, she'd been more than happy to spend time with Alexis.

Well, he'd always believed that Alexis had some magical properties that made it impossible not to like her.

It occurred to him that if he'd ever had any (slim) hope of resisting Kate Beckett, of not falling irrevocably in love with her, it was lost the moment he saw the way she was around Alexis.

"Alexis is fine. Mother was home for dinner and they ordered takeout. Alexis texted to say that there are leftovers in the fridge if we want some, by the way."

Kate smiled. "Say, Castle, can I ask you something?"

He glanced at her in some surprise. "Of course. You can ask me anything."

"Martha has officially moved in with her boyfriend, Chet, right?"

"So why is she over at the loft nearly every day?" he supplied.

"Don't get me wrong!" Beckett hurriedly added. "Martha's great. I like having her around so much. I was just curious, that's all."

Flustered Beckett was adorable and he so rarely got to see her, the confident Detective Beckett, flustered. He mentally thanked his mother for her unorthodox approach to moving in with her boyfriend. (Not that he would ever tell his mother.) "I forgot that mother explained her 'Martha Rodgers, woman of mystery' philosophy to me and Alexis before you got back to the loft."

She laughed. "The Martha Rodgers, woman of mystery philosophy?"

"Yes. She doesn't want to become predictable so she decided that in order to maintain her aura of mystery with Chet, she would have to essentially split her time between the loft and Chet's place."

"That is priceless."

"Although," he added, "I think she's doing it because Alexis likes having her around." He affected a beleaguered sigh. "I keep trying to kick Mother out permanently but she keeps coming back. And then Alexis seems to miss my mother when she's not around, so I'm outnumbered. It's terrible, really, how I can't evict mother from my own home."

"Liar."

He huffed in mock offense. "I am not lying."

"Protest all you like but I've seen you with your mother. I know you adore her."

"I don't think cops are supposed to throw around unsubstantiated accusations like that without some evidence to support it."

"Oh, shut up, Castle." The words were belied by her soft smile, as she glanced at him quickly just as the passing light from a street lamp briefly illumined her face.

(He momentarily forgot how to breathe. God, she was beautiful.)

"I think it's sweet," she said quietly, not looking at him. And then she fixed him with what was definitely a Detective Beckett look. "But if you tell anyone I said that, I'll shoot you."

"Your secret's safe with me."

"Good," she clipped out with that mock sternness he found to be so seriously adorable. "Or believe me, the mummy will be the least of your worries." Yeah, that was definitely the Detective Beckett he knew and… loved. (Oh god, he did love her. Loved everything about her. Loved the relaxed, comfortable Kate he saw in the loft who was so good with Alexis, loved the friendly Beckett who played pranks on him and teased him, but he also loved the tough, no-nonsense Detective who took no prisoners in an interrogation, showing a sharp intelligence as spiky as her heels, loved the prickly, bossy Detective who challenged him and kept him on his toes.)

And Kate Beckett thought he was sweet.

He kept his gaze fixed out the window, smiling to himself, warmth and tentative hope bubbling up in his chest. (His mother could live with him forever, he decided absently.)

Kate Beckett thought he was sweet. Sweet. Not the most manly of adjectives but he could live with it.

(And he tried to ignore the baser part of his brain that wanted to dwell on all the ways he could prove to her just how manly he was.)

_~To be continued…~_

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_A/N 2: Thank you, as always, for reading. I'd love to know what you think. _


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.

Author's Note: The last chapter based on "Wrapped Up In Death" with more familiar dialogue ahead.

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 6_

Kate couldn't quite believe she was about to say this—she couldn't believe she was doing this, period. But Castle had gone from "I don't believe in curses" to being quite genuinely unnerved by it and as hilarious as it was to watch Castle unspool over a curse he insisted he didn't believe in, when he'd looked at her with those blue eyes of his and asked her, "Come on, Beckett, you wouldn't want to risk my leaving Alexis without a father just because you, Detective Skeptical, don't believe in curses, would you?" she'd given in and agreed.

Because, damn it, he was kind of adorable and those damn blue eyes of his did things to her insides when he fixed them on her, and yes, after the dog incident and the elevator incident, maybe there was a tiny part of her that didn't want to risk anything happening to him. For Alexis's sake. Of course, it was for Alexis's sake. And Martha's.

So she'd rolled her eyes, given a put-upon sigh for his benefit, and agreed.

Which had led her to this moment, standing outside the cell where Cawca Te was being held, making a deal with him.

"I have a deal to propose. I spoke to the DA and he's agreed to drop the felony threat charges based on your cooperation." (She had spoken to the DA but told him the deal was in exchange for Te's cooperation in the investigation, not for reversing a curse that almost certainly did not exist, but whatever, Cawca Te didn't need to know that.)

"What kind of cooperation?"

Beckett glanced at Castle. _See, Castle, never say I don't do anything for you._ _You so owe me one for this. _

He nodded slightly. _I know. _

She turned back to Te, not quite able to sound entirely serious, as she said, "Tell him how to reverse the curse."

"Why should I?"

"Because, thanks to us, Mr. Bentley has agreed to send the entire collection back to the Mexican museum after the exhibit ends," Kate responded.

"Why would he agree to do that?"

Castle spoke up. This part had, after all, been mostly his idea, but then he was the PR person on the team, so to speak. He knew how publicity and PR worked since he was (somewhat) famous himself. (Kate would never admit it but Castle's PR savvy had helped more than once.) Castle had not-quite-subtly wondered aloud what people would say when it got out that the hyped-up mummy's curse turned out to be a homicidal exhibit curator, a member of the museum staff, and then watched Bentley's face change color. Bentley had been very amenable after that.) "Well, let's just say he's got a little public relations problem right now and could use all the good publicity he can get."

Kate watched and… there. There was the faintest flicker of something that might have been the ghost of a smile across Cawca Te's granite-like countenance.

Te beckoned and Castle leaned in as Te whispered something into his ear.

Castle drew back a little. "That's all I have to do?"

Te nodded. "And one more thing… I wouldn't say no to a ride to the airport."

Kate couldn't quite suppress a small roll of her eyes at that. Make one somewhat silly deal and now she was also a taxi service. "Let's go."

The ride to JFK was mostly quiet. Te was obviously not the talkative sort and Castle, for once, didn't say much but settled for fiddling with the radio controls, jumping back and forth between channels like some sort of hyperactive frog with eclectic musical tastes and the attention span of a fruit-fly until she swatted at his hand and gave him a look that threatened a fatal shooting.

He gave her a wounded look but stopped playing with the controls.

In the back seat, she heard Te give a little sigh of relief and suppressed a smirk. Ha, even stoic expressionless Mayans found Castle to be aggravating.

Castle waved and Kate lifted an acknowledging hand as Te shouldered his bag and headed into the terminal.

"Well, Castle, where do we need to go to break this curse of yours?"

"Can you drop me off at the museum?"

Kate threw him a smirk as she smoothly directed her car back into the lanes of traffic. "I take it Te told you that you needed to return to the scene of the cursing before you can be un-cursed."

"Why do I feel like you're still mocking me?"

She had to laugh at that. "Maybe because I am."

He huffed. "You should show some more compassion for a man who's still facing the threat of imminent death-by-mummy."

"You were the one who just _had_ to open the tomb and gaze upon the face of the mummy."

"I was trying to live out my boyhood dream of being Indiana Jones."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure Indiana Jones wouldn't yelp like a puppy when a cappuccino machine makes some funny noises."

"You mock me and it wounds," he pouted. "If you cut me, do I not bleed?"

She couldn't resist giving his body a long, not-at-all-subtle once-over. "You look all right to me," she drawled, deliberately infusing her voice with as much innuendo as she could manage.

He choked a little and gaped at her and she bit her lip but couldn't quite hide her smile, triumph and amusement and a low buzz of desire humming through her veins. It was probably a little mean of her but oh, it was _delicious_ to know she had the power to leave Castle speechless with just a look and a few words.

She shouldn't flirt with him like this—she knew she shouldn't—it was dangerous to flirt with him because _he_ was dangerous (not physically, never physically, but emotionally)—but she just couldn't help herself sometimes. Because it was so much _fun_ and goodness knows, he was good at giving it right back to her with his own looks and innuendos.

_(Stop it, Kate. Behave.) _

She cleared her throat a little and tried to sound more like her usual no-nonsense self. "So what exactly do you need to do to break this curse?"

"Not telling."

She could hear the lingering huskiness in his tone, far removed from his usual lightly teasing voice, and knew it was because of her teasing just then.

"Okay, fine, don't tell. Just as long as it's nothing illegal since I'm not sure how I'd explain that I arrested you for doing something illegal in order to break a mummy's curse."

That made him laugh. "Don't worry, Detective. It's nothing illegal."

"That's a relief."

Kate returned her concentration to navigating the highway, as crowded as it always was in the City, while Castle started prattling, in typical Castle fashion, of other curses he had read about, the one about "the Scottish play" and those involving King Tut. And she didn't try to shut him up, just listened, and wondered when she'd started to enjoy listening to Castle rattle on like this because she did rather enjoy it. He was amusing and almost astonishingly well-read (even if a lot of his knowledge was of the random trivia variety) and goodness knows, he had a way with words. And at least right now, she didn't have an active case to focus on or paperwork to get done so she could simply listen and allow herself to be amused. She had to laugh as he started talking about the Boston Red Sox and the so-called Curse of the Bambino that had finally been reversed in 2004.

"Really, Castle? You're on first name terms with Joe Torre and your example of a curse being reversed is the 2004 postseason and how the Yankees completed the worst postseason collapse ever?"

He shrugged. "I might be friends with Joe but when it comes to 2004, the writer in me wins out. I mean, come on, underdogs coming back from being down, three games to none, to win it all when it had never been done before? Sports stories in real life don't get much better than that!"

"Still. You're a New Yorker talking to another New Yorker. Bringing up the 2004 baseball postseason is practically asking to be beaten up."

He laughed. "You're a Mets fan; I figured I was safe."

"How do you know I'm a Mets fan?"

He threw her a look as if she'd just asked what day it was. "Please, Beckett, I may not know that much about baseball but you mentioned going to Shea with your dad. Shea was the home stadium of the Mets, ergo…"

She had to laugh. "Right, of course." She forgot sometimes how good his memory was when it came to her and things she said. She had told Agent Shaw that Castle observed her and she tended to forget, with his outward silliness, just how observant he was, how much he noticed. About everything, but especially about her. He knew her—and she couldn't decide if that fact was more terrifying or comforting or a combination of both.

She pulled up outside the museum and he opened his door almost immediately. "Thanks for driving, Beckett. I'll see you back at the loft."

"Don't be ridiculous, Castle. We're both going back to the same place so I'm hardly just going to leave you here."

"Fine but stay in the car. Please," he added rather as an afterthought as she narrowed her eyes at him. He had not just told her what to do.

"It makes more sense for me to go inside with you."

"No, don't!"

She huffed. What on earth was the matter with him now? "What's your problem, Castle?"

"I just… don't want you with me when I reverse the curse."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You said it was nothing illegal."

"It isn't!" He seemed to read her expression and admitted, "If you must know, I just don't want any witnesses to what I need to do to reverse the curse. It's going to make me look stupid."

She couldn't help but smirk. "Castle, if you don't want me to see you looking ridiculous, you'd have to avoid me completely and I'd never set eyes on you again."

He made a face at her. "Haha, yes, very funny, Beckett. But please, just wait for me in the car."

"Fine, go," she relented. "Try not to get attacked by the mummy before you manage to un-curse yourself."

"I'll do my best."

Kate watched him disappear inside the museum and shook her head a little, amused—and a little oddly flattered in spite of herself—that he apparently didn't want her to see him doing something stupid to reverse the curse. He cared that much for her opinion of him? That was… surprising, this glimpse of self-consciousness in a man who otherwise always seemed remarkably at home in his own skin. Surprising and kind of endearing, this chink of vulnerability in his well-polished façade of ego and arrogance. She did know him well enough by now to know that while he could be cocky, his displays of ego were mostly for show, part of the persona he assumed. But for all that, he didn't show vulnerability often. Any more than she did, she suddenly thought. They were alike in that. (And that was a strangely unsettling realization.)

Castle reappeared some 20 minutes later and Kate couldn't help but smile at the sight of him because he was positively bouncing on his feet as he walked, his _Castle-ness_, that childish exuberance and capacity for fun that she associated with him, in full view again. No longer subdued because of some irrational fear of a curse.

And she had to admit she kind of lo—_liked_ seeing him restored to himself, happy and smirking, again. (What, she liked him. He was a friend. That was all. She would feel just as happy if it had been Ryan or Esposito who'd been worried over the curse and now were happily un-cursed.)

"I take it the curse has successfully been reversed," she greeted him as he slid into the car.

"Your deduction is correct, Detective," he grinned.

"And you still don't want to tell me how you did it?"

"Suffice to say that I will think twice before I open up another ancient tomb."

She snorted. "You, the creature of impulse, think twice? I doubt it."

"Mock away, Beckett. I've just reversed a curse and not even you, Detective Downer, can spoil my good mood right now," he announced airily.

She gave him a real smile, the sort of smile she didn't often let him see, one lacking any sardonic edge. "I don't want to spoil your good mood." No, she didn't want to spoil his good mood. He'd been teasing her but she suddenly felt that she didn't want to be "Detective Downer" right now. They were _friends_, as bizarre as it sometimes seemed to her to realize that Richard Castle, her favorite author (not that she would ever tell him that), was actually her friend now. And for once, she thought she could just be his friend, all snark and teasing insults set aside for a little while.

He returned her smile, his eyes lighting up with so much delight she felt an entire family of butterflies set up camp in her stomach.

(_Damn it, no, stop that. _He was just a friend; there were no butterflies; she would not, could not, feel butterflies in her stomach because of his smile.)

She jerked her eyes away from his, focusing on the road again with ruthless concentration that didn't even allow for the possibility of a distraction, and clung to that the rest of the drive back to the loft.

Alexis was in the kitchen when they walked in and she smiled at them. "Hey, Dad, Kate."

Castle lifted his arms up in the air with a dramatic flourish. "You will be happy to know that the curse has officially been lifted," he announced.

Kate laughed to herself as she went into his office to put away her gun. Silly man.

She returned to the living room to see Castle lean against the kitchen island. "What murderous experiments are you performing on tomatoes now? Stabbing, filleting?"

"Dicing," Alexis answered dramatically. "For a salad." (Yes, definitely her father's child.) "Want to help?"

"I would love to," Castle agreed, moving around the island to take the knife Alexis offered.

"Ooh, someone's feeling confident now that the curse is lifted," Kate teased as she slid onto one of the stools at the island.

He stuck his tongue out at her and she laughed. "Real mature, Castle."

"So, I was thinking, maybe this weekend we could go to the museum? It's been a while," Alexis suggested.

Castle made a face. "How about the zoo?"

Alexis laughed, resting her head against his shoulder for a moment. "That sounds great." She turned her head to look at Kate. "Kate, you should come with us."

"I wish I could but I'm meeting up with my dad for lunch on Saturday and then I made appointments to look at some apartments," Kate answered, a little surprised at the real stab of regret she felt. (She shouldn't _be_ disappointed to miss out on spending even more time with Castle, let alone a family outing like this one. She _shouldn't._ She should be looking forward to a Castle-free day—and she was. She would. Once she thought about it. Really.)

"Oh. Well, some other time then," Alexis answered.

Kate was distracted as she heard Castle suck in his breath sharply and turned to see him wincing.

"What's the difference between curse and clumsy?" he asked tightly.

"Alexis, get some band-aids," Kate instructed quickly and raised her eyebrows at him. "Maybe the mummy's still mad at you."

He made a rather strained face at her. "Haha."

She waved a hand at him. "What are you doing, standing there? You should at least wash the blood off your hands so you can see how bad it is."

"So bossy," he complained but he still did as she said, going to the sink and washing his hands.

"Do you think you'll survive?" she asked.

"It'll take more than this to kill me," he scoffed. "Come on, Beckett, I'm not that delicate."

Alexis came running back. "Here are the band-aids."

"Thanks." Castle took the box from her with his good hand and then fumbled as he attempted to open the box with his one good hand.

Kate huffed out a sigh, standing up and moving around the island towards him. "Alexis, you'd better finish cutting the tomatoes. Here, Castle, I'll help you with the band-aids."

"You going to be my naughty nurse?" he teased, the words belied by the lingering tightness in his tone.

"In your dreams, Castle. I'm only being nice, seeing as how you won't be able to bandage up your fingers one-handed."

She took the box of band-aids from him and took a few out, getting to work on bandaging up Castle's fingers.

She inwardly winced a little at the first sight of the cut, the beads of blood still welling up along his thumb and three of his fingers.

He didn't say anything as she grasped his hand, rather surprising her, as she would have expected that he would be whining, playing up his injury and his pain, in his usual childish fashion, but then she belatedly realized that Alexis was there and Castle wouldn't act that way with his daughter around.

His hand was warm, his skin smooth and un-callused, the hands of a writer, she noted absently. But there was strength in his hands too. She knew that he had a firm, strong grip when he shook hands. (She abruptly remembered the sight of his hands firing a gun as he'd shot Scott Dunn.)

She unconsciously slowed as she finished wrapping up the last band-aid, her fingers lingering on his hand, ostensibly to check that the bandages were securely fastened.

She found herself oddly mesmerized by the contrast between her hand and his, the size of his hand compared to her own slim ones.

He had big hands.

(She wondered what his hands would feel like on her body.)

The errant thought sent a wash of heat through her, her mouth going dry, and she sucked in her breath, regretting it in the next instant as the familiar scent of him, of his cologne and his soap and that other indefinable scent that was just him, filled her senses. (He smelled good.)

* * *

Castle was frozen. He couldn't blink, he couldn't move, could only stare.

Kate Beckett was holding his hand—and he had the vague, fuzzy thought that he really needed to injure himself more often if this was the result. He was barely even aware of the sting of pain anymore—he would gladly put up with a hundred times more pain if it meant Beckett—no, _Kate_, he couldn't think of her as Beckett right now, not when she was holding his hand—would keep touching him like this, so gently.

There was so much… concern in her touch, in her actions, that he felt it like a warm blanket being wrapped around him, his hopeful heart dancing around inside his chest. _Maybe…_

Her touch was so gentle, so… tender… his eyes flickered shut for a second before he opened them again because he wanted to see her, standing so close to him, let his eyes trace down her hair to the curve of her ear and the slope of her neck that he wanted to trace with his lips and his tongue.

He belatedly remembered to breathe and sucked in a careful breath and oh, she still smelled like cherries—from her shampoo? She must have bought a replacement of her usual and he was ridiculously thrilled over the thought that Kate's usual shampoo was upstairs in the bathroom of his own loft.

_Oh Kate, I love you, I want you… please let me love you…_

* * *

She looked up at him and—bad idea. Very bad idea. She hadn't realized quite how close they were and now her lips were only inches from his. His eyes had darkened, dilated, until the blue was almost black and… and _he wanted her_.

Why the thought slammed into her so strongly she didn't know—this was Castle after all, who'd spent the last year since they'd met making joking innuendos and suggestively teasing remarks—but it had always been humorous, just jokes, easy to deflect and ignore or sometimes give back to him in kind, always safely masked behind wit and humor.

This, the look in his eyes, somehow felt like more. This was serious.

And then—thank god—there was a clatter as the knife Alexis was using hit the side of a bowl and Kate quickly stepped back, dropping his hand as if it had burned her.

Oh god, oh god, oh god, what had just happened?

(_You know what just happened, Kate._)

She couldn't look at Castle anymore—thought she might never be able to look at him again, for that matter—and busied herself pouring herself a glass of ice water, gulping it down and resisting the impulse to touch the cold glass to her over-heated face.

She focused on Alexis—oh god, how had she managed to forget so completely that his _daughter_ was right there—"I think we'd better banish the wounded warrior from the kitchen, Alexis. What were you planning on making for dinner? I'll help." (Her voice sounded a little husky and breathless but it was passable. Sort of. _Get a grip, Kate!_)

Alexis glanced up from slicing the tomatoes. "I was thinking of making spaghetti, if that's all right with you."

"Spaghetti sounds great."

Alexis looked over at her father. "Dad, get out of the way. You can go watch TV or something so you don't hurt yourself anymore."

Castle huffed. "Oh fine, but only because you asked so nicely, pumpkin."

He sounded normal enough but Kate was excruciatingly aware of his eyes staying on her, even as he spoke to Alexis, and kept her own eyes carefully turned away from him.

She wouldn't look at him, couldn't look at him.

She was so glad that Alexis was around and Alexis had, thankfully, not noticed anything—there was nothing to notice (_sure, Kate, keep telling yourself that_)—and even more glad that Alexis maintained a light conversation, telling stories of the times Castle had taken her to the museum when she was little and then moving on to talking about things that had happened in school that day.

The rest of the evening passed normally—at least, outwardly. Kate spent the evening focusing on Alexis and the food and then after dinner buried herself in a book (although afterwards, Kate couldn't have said what the book was about) and did not, absolutely did not, look at Castle at all. She didn't find her eyes straying, distracted by his lips and his hands and the breadth of his shoulders and the definition of his chest through his button-down.

Nope, she didn't notice any of that. She wouldn't think about any of that.

Really.

_~To be continued…~ _

_A/N 2: Yes, I know the whole standing-too-close-to-bandage-his-hand thing is cliché but in my defense, the writers were the ones who had Castle cut his hand so really, there was no way I could possibly miss that chance to force Beckett into his personal space. _

_And the season finale—I might have cried. More than once. Um, yes, that is all. _

_Thank you, everyone, for reading and reviewing! _


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Sigh.

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 7_

The sound of a cell phone ringing startled Kate out of her almost-doze on the couch. It had been a long, boring day of paperwork at the precinct and thanks to the effects of yet another delicious home-cooked meal that had left her feeling pleasantly full, Kate was having a hard time keeping her eyes open.

"Oh, that's me," Alexis spoke up and left her position on the couch sitting between Kate, curled into the corner, and Castle.

Alexis grabbed up her phone. "Hi, Mom," she greeted before she vanished upstairs.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Kate caught the way Castle visibly stiffened when Alexis said the word "mom," before he forcibly relaxed again.

"Mom"—Alexis was talking to Meredith. Castle's first ex-wife. Whom he'd slept with when she'd been in town last year.

Kate thought back, remembered the rather shrill redhead who had come breezing into the precinct, Alexis in tow, and made it very clear in the few minutes she was there that she disdained cops and still looked upon Castle as being very much her property.

Castle was, of course, a (rather famously) divorced single father but it belatedly occurred to Kate to wonder about Alexis's relationship with her mom. Kate had been staying at the loft for two weeks now and in that time, Kate suddenly realized, she hadn't heard Alexis mention her mother even once. Alexis was not as given to chatter as Castle was but she was generally forthcoming and open. She and Kate had had a number of private conversations lately, some serious and others not so serious, Alexis starting to talk to Kate about things like clothes and makeup and boys (the latter topic one that made Castle's face change color, his face stiffening, or made him start rambling in a desperate attempt to drown out Alexis's words, and Kate and Alexis always retreated upstairs to Alexis's bedroom for these talks). Alexis spoke of her dad frequently, mentioned her friends freely, and often talked about her grandmother, her classes, and her teachers. But Alexis had never once mentioned her mother.

And Castle too never brought up Meredith. He prattled about himself, his mother, and Alexis, complained about Gina and the various other people he dealt with at Black Pawn. He spoke about Patterson and Cannell and his other mystery buddies, mentioned his poker group of the Mayor and Judge Markaway and Captain Montgomery, name-dropped other people he knew. But in all his patter, Castle didn't talk about Meredith, not even in her capacity as Alexis's mom.

Kate spoke about her own mother more frequently and with more ease than either Alexis or Castle mentioned Meredith, which was saying quite a bit since Kate did not mention her mother often (or at least, she didn't with anyone outside of her father, Lanie occasionally, and now Castle.)

And it occurred to Kate that the silence on the subject of Meredith was a little odd and disquieting.

Kate suddenly remembered the story Alexis had told about how Castle had called Martha up to share his excitement when Alexis had first called him "dada." It hadn't occurred to Kate then but she suddenly wondered, where had Meredith been for that? If Meredith had been present, surely Castle would have been able to share his excitement over Alexis's first word with her? It was, after all, the sort of milestone parents celebrated together.

Alexis reappeared, coming down the stairs, and Castle immediately twisted around to look at her. "What was that about, pumpkin?"

Alexis settled back on the couch next to her dad. "Mother's Day weekend," she answered.

Kate, watching, saw the sudden tension in Castle's features but his voice was neutral. "Oh, what about it?"

Alexis kept her eyes focused on the TV, some Discovery Channel show about the African safari. "Mom's been invited to some fancy house party up in Napa at a place owned by a director she's been trying to meet with for months because she really wants a role in his next project. She's super-excited about it. Only the house party is over Mother's Day weekend so she called to let me know we'd have to change our plans."

Alexis's tone was almost preternaturally calm, without a hint of any emotion that Kate could detect, whether it was sadness or anger or bitterness or anything. She looked and sounded resigned and mature and the expression managed to make her look both older than her years and incredibly, painfully young at the same time.

Castle slid his arm around Alexis's shoulders, tugging her in against him, and Alexis settled her head against his shoulder as he brushed a kiss to her hair. "You can go out to California in the summer, and then you'll be able to spend more time out there since you won't have school to worry about."

"Yeah, I know."

He sighed a little, his voice so soft Kate could barely hear it, even though there was only a little more than a foot between them as they sat on either end of the couch. "You okay, pumpkin?"

Alexis looked up at Castle and gave him a small, reassuring smile. "I'm fine, Dad. It's just Mom."

Alexis stayed, leaning against Castle, while he kept his arm around her.

They returned to watching the show, interspersed only with Castle's occasional comments. (The man seemed constitutionally incapable of watching anything, whether it be a TV show or a movie, in silence.)

But for all that, Kate could see that his jaw was set, his features stiff with tension, even though he was clearly making every effort to appear normal and unaffected.

Part of Kate's mind—the corner of her brain that seemed to have reverted to being a hormonal teenager when Castle was around in the last few days since what she'd started thinking of as the Band-aid Incident (she'd been spending too much time with Castle when she started thinking in dramatic capitalized monikers)—was distracted by thinking that she wanted to ease the set of his jaw by tracing it with her lips, but the rest of her was focused on reflecting on how heartbreaking it had been to hear Alexis say "It's just Mom."

_Just Mom. _

It wasn't a sentiment Kate had been able to understand in the last decade for the obvious reasons but more than that was the sense of just how wrong it was that any kid would reach the point of being so resigned to the failures of a mother.

For the first time, it occurred to Kate to think that in some ways, Alexis's lack of a mother might be worse than Kate's own motherless-ness, if such a thing could be measured. Because Kate had the comfort of her memories, of knowing that when she'd been alive, Johanna Beckett's world had revolved around her little girl. Alexis's mother was alive but it meant that Alexis was almost constantly faced with the reality that her mother wasn't there for her, that however much Meredith might love Alexis, it wasn't enough. Faced with the reminder, like what had apparently just happened, that Meredith put going to a party with her own friends above spending time with her only child.

Kate's chest hurt trying to imagine what it must be like for Alexis.

And Castle was angry about it.

She didn't think she'd ever seen Castle truly angry before.

He'd been mildly irritated at her and the boys for the little pranks they'd played on him over the mummy's curse, she knew, and he complained (a lot) about how annoying his mother or Gina was but she'd never really seen him angry. He was generally so easy-going, cheerful, her easily-distracted, prone-to-excitement-and-joking man-child of a partner.

Her partner—it was a term that every cop understood the significance of. He wasn't a cop. But somehow, he'd become her partner. Not officially, as far as the NYPD brass was concerned, but to her and to everyone at the Twelfth, everyone who really mattered. She couldn't remember at what point she'd stopped thinking of him as just her annoying shadow to thinking of him as her partner, someone who had her back—except, no, that wasn't true. She did know when it had happened, when she'd decided she wanted to find her mother's killer more than she feared losing herself to the case again, when she had gone automatically to his loft and he had offered to do anything that she wanted him to do. When she'd faced off with Dick Coonan in the interrogation room and run up against the immediate problem that there was no way the City would authorize paying $100,000 to some shadowy killer for hire with a fake contract in order to trap her mother's killer and Castle hadn't hesitated or so much as blinked an eye before stepping up with his own money to try to make it happen. He had had her back, had acted as her partner in every sense. And when he'd said that he couldn't shadow her anymore, her first thought, after her immediate, visceral dismay at the idea that he would leave, was that he wasn't just her shadow; he was her _partner_ and she didn't want him to leave.

Alexis stirred. "I think I'm going to go upstairs and read for a little while before going to bed. Night, Kate. Night, Dad." She dropped a light kiss on Castle's cheek and gave Kate a small wave and a smile as she stood up.

Kate returned Alexis's smile. "Good night, Alexis."

Castle caught Alexis's hand in his and squeezed it as she passed him. "Night, sweetie. Love you."

"Love you too."

Once Alexis left, Castle dropped the shield he had obviously been deploying until he was glowering at the TV as if the herd of gazelles now on the screen were his personal enemies.

He really was angry over this change of plans for Mother's Day. And the unusual sight of Castle overtly furious tugged at something deep inside Kate. She wanted to know him, wanted to understand why he was so upset, wanted to know about his relationship with Meredith who was clearly someone who still had the power to upset him. It surprised her. She of all people understood about privacy and she didn't think she'd ever felt this urgent wish to know about someone's past, to understand their reactions, until now.

Kate waited until she heard the soft, distant click of Alexis's door being closed and then another minute for good measure before she ventured, "Castle?"

"What?" he snapped, his tone sharp enough that even knowing it wasn't directed at her, Kate felt a stirring of defensiveness and temper.

He stopped, sighed, rubbed a hand down his face before flicking a glance at her that was an apology in itself. "What is it, Beckett?" he asked again, forcibly modulating his tone.

His expression was still the opposite of encouraging but concern and sympathy for Alexis—and a large dose of curiosity that Kate couldn't deny, as vaguely guilty as it made her feel—compelled her to go on. "Can I ask you something? About Alexis and… her mother."

His answer was to stand up and jerk his head towards his office door before walking away.

Uncertain what he meant, Kate only stared at him until he turned back. "If we're going to talk about this, we'll talk in my office. I don't talk about her where my daughter might hear." There was the faintest emphasis on the "my" and Kate noted it half-absently, understanding that it was directed against Meredith, even as she rose and followed him to his office.

She paused to grab the TV remote but he shook his head. "No, leave it on, in case Alexis leaves her room."

He was serious about not wanting to talk about Meredith if there was any chance that Alexis would overhear.

Once in his office, Castle almost threw himself into his chair behind his desk, leaving her to take the seat angled in the corner, the positioning of the chairs such that Kate automatically felt at a disadvantage as if she were somehow being interrogated but she ignored that. It wasn't true and anyway, she was still Detective Kate Beckett; she wouldn't be intimidated. Not ever, not by anyone.

"Can I ask, how often does Alexis see Meredith?" she began, her tone unassuming, mild.

"Usually about once a year. Alexis spends a week or so out in LA every summer and Meredith occasionally flies into the City on a whim."

"That must be hard on Alexis."

His lips twisted into a rueful grimace. "Honestly, I think Alexis prefers it that way. She knows if she wanted to, she could see Meredith more often but—" he shrugged, "Alexis doesn't ask." He paused and then added, "Sometimes, like this time, Meredith asks Alexis to come out for some holiday or other. I agree and then…"

He focused his gaze on one of the picture frames on his desk, his expression softening and for a moment becoming so melancholy that Kate averted her eyes and came to a belated recognition that she really had no business to be prying into Castle family business like this. She was forgetting, in her own growing affection for Alexis, in her confusion over Castle, that the attractive (and terrifying) picture of domesticity they were making with these family dinners and TV nights and moments of laughing warmth was false, an illusion. She _wasn't_ family.

"I'm sorry," she offered quietly. "I have no right to ask these questions. It's none of my business."

He gave a crack of unamused, even bitter, laughter that startled Kate since it seemed so unlike the good-humored, wise-cracking, perennially childish man she knew. "You're right. It's not," he acknowledged and Kate sternly fought back the renegade flicker of hurt. What, had she expected Castle to deny it, assure her that she was family? (She sort of had and the realization brought her up short, making her aware of just how muddled she'd gotten, how much she'd forgotten her internal vow to keep thinking of this as just a temporary, impersonal arrangement.)

But Castle was continuing on, his voice uncharacteristically hard. "The sad part is that in these last couple weeks, you've acted more like a part of the family, been there for Alexis more than Meredith ever has." He stopped, blinked, abruptly seeming to remember who she was and that he was speaking aloud and gave her a look of flustered dismay mingled in with something like… fear? (Kate inwardly frowned. That made no sense; what did he have to be afraid of in this?) "Sorry! I'm sorry. Forget I said that."

Now he looked and sounded more like the Castle she knew and—the Castle she knew.

She offered him a faint flicker of a smile. "It's okay, Castle. I—I care about Alexis, you know. It's hard not to."

His expression softened, some of his tension easing. "Yeah, it is."

"I'm sorry, about Meredith," she volunteered after a moment's hesitation. If this entire awkward exchange had shown her anything, it was how hard this was on Castle, how much Meredith's behavior upset Castle on Alexis's behalf. It didn't take a lot of insight to see that Alexis was Castle's greatest vulnerability, how anything to do with Alexis affected Castle on a visceral level. And how much more true would that be when the person letting Alexis down was Alexis's own mother, a woman Castle had once loved and married? He must have loved Meredith once, right?

His face shuttered, again, and he only said, "It's okay. I stopped expecting anything from Meredith a long time ago." He paused and then admitted, as if the words were compelled from him, "The only good thing that ever came out of my relationship with Meredith was Alexis but Alexis is the best thing that's ever happened to me so I can't regret it. But if I never saw Meredith again, I'd be just fine with that."

"But you slept with her last year," Kate blurted out and then almost clapped a hand to her mouth, inwardly cringing as she searched the floor for the hole that _must_ have just opened up at her feet so she could jump inside it and never show her face again. _Oh god._ What the hell had she been thinking—or not thinking—for her tongue to disobey her brain like that?

She didn't dare look at Castle, knew she was blushing redder than Alexis's hair, as she kept her gaze fixed on the floor, on her lap, on Castle's desk, anywhere but at him.

He choked on air and coughed a few times before he managed to croak, "I plead temporary insanity." He cleared his throat a couple times, and then asked in something that was a distant cousin to his normal tone, "Why do you care, Beckett?"

That got a reaction. Kate's eyes flew to his and then just as quickly withdrew again. "I don't," she denied quickly. Too quickly. (Liar, an internal voice said. _Shut up._) "I just—if Alexis found out or knew about it and she's smart, don't you think it'll make her hope that you and her mom might get back together?" She shut her mouth, inwardly kicking herself. Why why _why_ wasn't she just shutting up? That had not helped, had not managed to sound the least bit believable to her own ears. She wanted to just up and run but some stubborn part of her insisted on sticking it out, refusing to show the extent of her discomfiture by fleeing ignominiously. She was just going to have to brazen it out. (_Idiot, Kate._)

"Alexis is too mature to think that," he asserted. "And she doesn't want me and Meredith to be together again, believe me. Meredith is… not someone either Alexis or I could ever live with again."

"You should have more self-respect than to fall into bed with your own ex-wife if you dislike her so much." God, why was nothing she said making this any better? And why oh why was she not simply shutting up?

"I don't _dislike_ Meredith. She gave me Alexis and for that alone, I don't dislike her. And Meredith is like the malaria virus. The symptoms can lie dormant for years and then when I'm drunk or lonely or particularly stupid or some combination of the three, the symptoms flare up and I end up relapsing."

Kate bit her lip hard enough to hurt to keep from responding—she wasn't, absolutely wasn't, going to comment. She'd already said way too much, should have shut up minutes ago.

An uneasy silence fell for a long few minutes, a silence during which Kate steadfastly studied the floor.

From the living room—and the TV that had been left on—came the sound of a squeal from some animal or another. And Kate didn't know why but something about it made them both snort with sudden, irrepressible laughter, her eyes automatically finding his, and somehow the awkwardness and the tension of the entire conversation dissolved and it was just them, Beckett and Castle, partners and friends. They exchanged small fleeting smiles and she had the sense that their friendship had shifted, taken on a new dimension.

"Any more excessively personal questions you want to ask me, Detective?" he quipped, teasing now.

She felt herself flush, giving him a rather abashed smile. "Sorry about that."

He shrugged. "It's okay. You were asking out of concern for Alexis and I can't be annoyed at you for that."

That wasn't entirely true but Kate didn't correct him, didn't want to admit just how much had been curiosity over _him_ and his relationship with Meredith than it had been concern for Alexis.

"I was thinking… maybe I could take Alexis out and we could do something on Mother's Day," she ventured instead.

He stared at her, something in his eyes she didn't know how to read, and she hurried to add, "I mean, I know I'm not… anything to Alexis, not really, but I hope that I'm a friend of hers too and I don't know if it'll help or make it harder on Alexis but I thought I'd offer." She shrugged a little. "What do you think? She's your daughter and you know her better than I do."

"You… want to do something for Mother's Day with Alexis," he repeated slowly as if he couldn't quite make sense of the words.

She tried to smile but didn't quite manage it. "Well, it's not like I have plans for Mother's Day."

He looked stricken. "Kate, I…"

"It's okay," she cut him off quickly and tamped down on her automatic reaction to hearing him say her first name, the odd little charge that went through her because he so rarely called her by her name that whenever he did, it just… affected her. And made things feel a little too personal, too intense. "Really. I just… want to help Alexis if I can. But I won't ask if you think it'll make things harder for her, remind her that her own mom isn't here." She knew from experience that having someone offer to be a substitute of sorts on a day like Mother's Day could hurt worse than not having a mother at all.

"Mother and Alexis sometimes spend the day together on Mother's Day so I don't think it'll make things harder. Ask Alexis, see what she says."

"Maybe I'll take her to the same tattoo parlor I went to and then we can go for a joy-ride on my motorcycle," she said on a sudden flare of mischief wanting to dispel the emotion crowding into the room.

He choked, his eyes getting wide. "You have a motorcycle?! And a tattoo?!"

She smirked. "You didn't think you knew everything there was to know about me, did you, Castle?"

"Believe me, Beckett, I've known from the moment we met that you were a mystery I'm never going to be able to solve." Something in his eyes, his tone, made her blush, before he added, "But you are _not_ allowed to let my daughter get a tattoo nor can you give her a ride on your motorcycle."

She made a face of feigned disgruntlement. "You're not such a cool dad after all, Castle. And it's too bad that as a cop, I really can't encourage under-age drinking or I'd just take Alexis to a bar."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "I'm beginning to regret saying you could ask Alexis if she wanted to do something on Mother's Day."

She laughed at him as she stood up. "I'll ask Alexis and see what she says and then come up with something. Have a good night, Castle."

"Night. Hey, Beckett?"

She glanced back at him from his office door. "What, Castle?"

"Thanks for…" he waved a hand in an awkward gesture, before finishing, "caring about Alexis."

She opened her mouth to assure him, again, that it was easy to care about Alexis but thought better of it since, after all, the reason this conversation had happened in the first place was because Alexis's own mother didn't care enough about Alexis to be there for her in any way. "I'm Alexis's friend too," she said simply, instead.

He smiled, one of his real smiles. "You're a good friend to have, Kate Beckett."

She met his eyes. "So are you, Rick Castle."

With that, she turned and left his office, pausing to turn off the TV before she went upstairs.

He was a good friend. It was a little startling to realize just how good a friend he was, how good a friend of hers he had become.

If anyone had asked her two weeks ago, she would have said her closest friends were Lanie, Esposito, and Ryan. Now, she knew that wasn't the case. Lanie was still her best friend but Castle had somehow moved to being second on the list.

He had saved her life and then he'd opened up his home to her when she needed it, had welcomed her into his family life. And in these past two weeks, she'd come to see how well he knew her and still, in spite of all her defenses and her reticence and her general reluctance to trust, he supported her and helped her and generally tried to make her life easier. In these past weeks when her entire life had seemingly been blown to pieces, leaving Kate adrift and off-balance in a way she really hated, there had been two things that remained constant in her life, that had provided her some measure of stability as she found her feet again. The precinct, unsurprisingly, as her work had been her refuge basically from the moment she first clipped on her badge—and Castle. She would never have expected it, was still amazed when she thought about it, but it was true.

When she might otherwise have been left with nothing, reduced to sleeping on Lanie's couch or in a hotel, which would have rapidly drained her resources, Castle had stepped up and given her… shelter in every sense of the word. He had given her a place that allowed her to patch up the pieces of her life as much as she could, look for a new apartment without giving in out of sheer desperation and settling for a place that was either unsafe or really out of her price range just to have a roof over her head again (neither of which was out of the realm of possibility given what housing in Manhattan could be like). More importantly, he had still been _Castle_, still bringing her coffee and doing what he could to make her smile and laugh. After everything that had happened, losing nearly everything she owned, and the hit her financial situation was unavoidably taking (she was luckier than a lot of people but she still hadn't exactly budgeted for having to replace a good chunk of her wardrobe all at once, let alone replacing all her other personal belongings and various necessities), she could have found herself drowning in her own thoughts, worrying over all she'd lost and all she still needed to replace. But because of him, his distracting presence and the distracting family life he had opened up to her, she hadn't drowned. Instead, she had to admit she'd laughed more in the last two weeks than she normally did in months, had certainly eaten better, had found herself more… relaxed, more… comfortable than she would ever have imagined she could be so soon after her apartment had exploded.

Castle had been a life saver and she didn't mean in the literal sense.

And now tonight, this friendship of theirs had somehow taken on another facet of sorts thanks to the strangely open conversation they had had. It was probably the first personal conversation they'd had about something other than her mother. A rather startling realization but true. It seemed counter-intuitive to the point of being impossible. After all, Castle seemed to spend the entire day talking and the two of them together were very verbal, engaging in almost non-stop exchanges of wit and banter and theorizing about cases. But for all that, in spite of how much they talked to each other, they didn't speak about personal things. They both tended to reserve when it came to their personal lives, Kate was beginning to realize, as strange as it seemed to think such a thing about Castle, whom she'd once thought lived his life on Page Six. If anyone had told her a year ago, even six months ago, that reticence was a characteristic of Castle's, Kate would probably have laughed hard enough to fall out of her seat. And yet, she realized, it was true. He _was_ reticent about his personal life, his vulnerabilities, just like she was.

Kate had her ingrained defenses and walls, clinging to her privacy and generally being about as receptive to personal inquiries as a porcupine. Castle deployed humor and innuendo and meaningless chatter as a shield, keeping people from seeing the man behind the persona.

She suddenly thought about Kyra, Castle's long-lost love. Kyra, who'd been… real. Real and down-to-earth in a way that neither Meredith nor Gina were. And Kate was beginning to see, after these days staying at the loft, that Castle was real too. He didn't often show it outside of the privacy of his own home but he was real.

And she, well, she had to admit she enjoyed his company more than she would ever have expected, even after having to spend so much time with him. (She would have expected that having to spend so much time with Castle outside the precinct would have resulted in her arrest for losing her patience and shooting him.) He was still Castle but his childish antics were tempered by his paternal side, the cocky man-about-town attitude that really made her think of him as a jackass largely drowned out in the face of his obvious love for Alexis and Martha. Seeing him in the privacy of his loft, the sides of him that she normally didn't get to see in the precinct became obvious, his kindness, his compassion, his seriousness (because as much as he joked around with Alexis, he always took Alexis's concerns and her worries seriously), his heart.

She just… liked him. And she had to admit that these new sides of Castle she was seeing made him damnably attractive. She'd given up on trying to deny that she'd always been physically attracted to him; it was just… stronger now. Stronger because she couldn't just dismiss him as another too-attractive-for-his-own-good, cocky jackass playboy. He was so much more than that. He was her friend, her partner. He was just… _Castle_.

And it made Kate think… wonder… maybe, just maybe, she didn't need to fight this… whatever-this-was with Castle. Maybe she could try, give this whatever-this-was with Castle a chance to develop and see where it took her, where it took them. Maybe…

_~To be continued…~_

* * *

_A/N: I admit I am sort of using this fic as a way of explaining away the things Castle did in S1 and S2 that annoyed me. Also, I dislike Meredith. _

_I am figuring that 2 weeks of living in the same apartment would manage to get even Castle and Beckett to have an actual, adult conversation without too much subtext involved—but of course, being Castle and Beckett, there's still a lot they didn't say. _

_As always, thank you, everyone, for reading. I love hearing what you all think. _


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Not mine. Sigh.

Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, who's read, reviewed, and favorited this fic so far. I appreciate every one.

The first of two chapters based on 2x20 "The Late Shaft" so there'll be some familiar dialogue ahead. I have to admit that I'm actually really pleased with how this chapter and the next have turned out so I'm looking forward to seeing what you all think.

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 8_

It was surreal, Kate thought.

She was sitting in Richard Castle's living room with his mother and his daughter with popcorn in front of them as they waited for the man himself to appear on TV on the Bobby Mann show as one of the celebrity guests.

She was staying with Richard Castle—_the_ Richard Castle, _New York Times_ bestselling author Richard Castle, celebrity author Richard Castle. Had been staying in Richard Castle's home for more than two weeks now.

There were times she had to take a step back and wonder at how on earth this was her life right now.

"Folks, please help me in welcoming Richard Castle! Rick Castle!" Bobby Mann announced.

Alexis and Martha let out little cheers and Kate glanced at them with a smile.

And there he was, striding onto the stage with one of his charming smiles—the one she thought of as his publicity smile because it was one she now knew he used when he was in his public persona—and a wave to the audience and the camera.

"He looks good. The make-up artists did well," Martha assessed with the air of one familiar with make-up and stage lighting and what it could do to a person's coloring.

Kate felt _something_ curl through her stomach. Because he _did_ look good, the full force of his personality and his charm on display as it usually was for his publicity events.

She was suddenly, forcefully reminded of the book signing she'd gone to years ago, of the quick, rather crooked smile he'd given her as he signed her book. She remembered, too, the way his smile had made her face flush, her heart fluttering a little. She'd known, of course, that to him, in that moment, she was only another face in a long line of fans but oh, when he chose to (and in his publicity events, he always chose to), he had that indefinable charm, that charisma, that made his smile feel personal, as if they were sharing an inside joke. That book signing had been the start of her little, much-denied crush on the "Richard Castle," the man whose face was on all of his book jackets. (The crush that had, ironically, been effectively killed when she'd actually met him at his book launch party.)

She never really saw that slightly crooked smile of his anymore, the for-my-fans smile he used at book signings. But he was more attractive, more dangerous, now that he no longer used his public persona around her. Kate had seen too much, been made too cynical, to place any value on charm and charisma—but seeing him in his home, with his family, Kate could practically feel her defenses, her resistance, weakening by the day. And damned if she wasn't becoming more susceptible to his charming publicity smile too, even though she knew—no, _because_ she knew the real man now.

He shook hands with Bobby, sitting down, as he and Bobby exchanged greetings and Bobby congratulated him on _Heat Wave_ reaching the _New York Times_ bestseller list.

Kate couldn't help her own smile and little thrill that went through her, the same little thrill she'd felt the moment she'd first seen Castle's name alongside the title, _Heat Wave_, on the bestseller list. As much as she occasionally griped to Castle about how much grief she'd gotten over _Heat Wave_, she couldn't deny that it was a little thrilling to know that the book he'd written based on _her_ was doing so well. She wasn't Nikki Heat but she couldn't help but feel a little pride of ownership in Nikki for all that, couldn't help but feel a little protective of her fictional alter-ego.

Castle smiled, thanked Bobby, and added, "And you know what, I really loved writing it."

_Loved writing it or loved researching for it?_, a voice in her mind asked, and Kate quickly shushed it. She wasn't going to start reading double meanings into everything he said like some teenage girl with a crush.

Bobby plugged the paperback coming out and then mentioned the movie and Kate swore Castle's publicity smile was becoming more of a smirk with every second. She rolled her eyes a little. God, he was insufferable every time the _Heat Wave_ movie was mentioned.

"Now you worked with actual NYPD homicide detectives to research _Heat Wave_, didn't you?" Bobby asked.

Kate sat up a little straighter at the mention of the NYPD.

"Yes, I did," Castle confirmed. "And can I just say, I have gained so much respect for the NYPD after seeing the work they do every day?"

Kate smiled and actually blushed a little, a whole host of butterflies suddenly taking up residence in her stomach.

"Aw, that's nice, Kate," Alexis commented.

"It is," Martha agreed and then threw a teasing glance at Kate. "Did you have to threaten him with your gun to make him agree to throw that in? Richard never likes talking about anything other than himself in these publicity appearances."

"Nope, no bribes or threats," Kate assured them lightly. Which was true enough.

Castle's expression changed, a glint of mischief appearing, "But can you believe they still won't let me carry a gun?"

Kate scoffed, exchanging a look with Alexis. "The NYPD has a policy against allowing hyperactive children to carry weapons," she said dryly and Alexis giggled.

"You should explain that to Dad that when he gets home, Kate!"

Kate grinned. "I will."

On screen, Ellie Monroe, the actress, shifted, changing her position in a way that Kate knew would give Castle a nice view down the front of her dress, saying decidedly flirtatiously, "I didn't know you worked with law enforcement. It's kind of my weak spot."

Castle returned her smile with one of his charming ones and Kate felt all the butterflies in her stomach fall down dead, suddenly feeling cold.

Of course, women flirted with Castle on a fairly regular basis but this time, he was obviously flirting right back.

She felt Alexis and Martha looking at her but she kept her eyes focused on the TV.

"Well, you guys, you're single, right?" Bobby asked.

Kate felt something twist through her. Yes, Castle was single.

And then Castle shifted, moving to sit right next to Ellie Monroe, slipping his arm in hers as Ellie cradled his arm against her chest, as the studio audience laughed and cheered and applauded. "Actually, not anymore," he responded laughingly to Bobby. "Call me old-fashioned but when a beautiful movie star is impressed with my fake law enforcement credentials, I'm in."

Kate was staring. She told herself to look away—she thought she might be sick—but she couldn't stop staring, focused on the screen, on how closely Castle was sitting with Ellie Monroe—who was disgustingly pretty and wearing a dress that showcased all her assets—on his hand holding Ellie's.

She knew—she _knew_—he was joking about not being single anymore but still.

_Beautiful movie star_, he'd called Ellie_. _And of course, Ellie Monroe was a beautiful movie star. And he was Richard Castle, multimillionaire celebrity author. On screen, they made a stunningly attractive couple and one that seemed to make sense, two famous people. Not quite as common as two actors, Hollywood couples like Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. But still, a pairing that made sense on paper.

While Kate was… just a cop. A homeless cop who had about two weeks worth of clothes and pretty much nothing else except for a lot of emotional baggage.

She tried to tell herself she was being silly but it wasn't about Ellie Monroe—or not only about Ellie Monroe. It was seeing Castle on TV, seeing his ease with the spotlight and the camera. This was his life; this was what he did for a living, in a sense. She tended to forget about it when he was beside her in the precinct almost all the time or seeing him act like his usual funny, kind self in the loft, but he was basically a celebrity.

Kate was pulled out of her thoughts when Martha said, "I wonder if Richard learned much more than her name before asking her out."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alexis elbow Martha but it was a little late.

Of course, Castle was single and had a perfect right to go out on dates. And with an actress as beautiful as Ellie Monroe throwing herself at him…

Oh god. Kate suddenly tried to imagine meeting Ellie Monroe, being introduced to her by Castle as he brought her back to the loft after a date. No, she pictured coming downstairs in the morning and seeing the actress leaving Castle's bedroom, no doubt looking sexily disheveled.

She might actually be sick after all. And she felt a little flare of anger. Really, what kind of example was that setting for Alexis? Alexis was a bright, mature teen but she was a 15-year-old girl. Kate remembered that age and how would it affect Alexis to see her own father engaging in meaningless flings with random actresses in his own home?

Not that Kate cared. But for Alexis's sake.

"Dad won't, you know, Kate."

Kate blinked and turned to look at Alexis, pasting a casual expression on her face. "Won't what?"

"Dad won't bring her here," Alexis answered, looking uncomfortable and blushing to the roots of her hair but forging on, "Even if he goes out with her, he won't bring her home. Dad doesn't have women over. The last woman he's had over was Gina and that was back when he was married to her."

"Oh. Well. That's good," Kate said, a little dumbly. "I mean, your dad can do whatever he likes."

Alexis gave her a look that made Kate wonder when she'd lost her poker face. (_Damn it._)

The interview didn't go on for much longer, Bobby Mann asking about the casting for the movie and Castle confirming that he was working on the second Nikki Heat book.

Kate barely heard the end of the interview but she tried to seem casual and unconcerned.

She didn't care what Castle might or might not do with Ellie Monroe. Really. He was single. She was only his friend and his partner at work.

But when Castle returned home that night after the show and Alexis asked him if he had actually asked Ellie Monroe out and he said that he hadn't and hadn't even asked for her number, Kate felt something inside her relax and she fully expected that to be the last she ever heard of Ellie Monroe.

Then Bobby Mann was found dead of a heart attack the next morning.

And Castle was off on one of his speculative theories, convinced that Bobby had been murdered.

Kate was skeptical but asked Lanie to dig deeper into Mann's autopsy, more to shut Castle up than anything else, and—really, Castle had been right?

Killing someone with cranberry juice and balsamic vinegar—that was a clever way to commit a murder. Kate wasn't going to admit it but it was probably as close to his "undetectable poison that stops the heart" as it was possible to get.

Kate frowned at the murder board. Something was going on with Bobby Mann; that was clear. Telling Castle that someone wanted him dead and then wanting his ex-wife to reassure him that he was a good person.

She directed Ryan to try to find Mann's car to get a better handle on his last hours and look into Mann's financials.

Castle's phone rang. "Hello."

Was she imagining it or did he straighten up a little as he went on, "Ellie! Hi."

Kate stiffened, feeling the same cold feeling go through her that she'd felt last night watching Ellie Monroe and Castle flirt, something twisting her gut—or her heart. Ellie. So much for never hearing about her again.

He covered the mouthpiece of his phone to whisper, "Ellie Monroe. From the show."

Yeah, as if she really wouldn't have been able to guess that.

He turned away from her, focusing on his call with the actress. "Yeah, no, I know. I understand…"

And Kate suddenly remembered with a violent lurch of her stomach that Alexis was away, would be away for the next five days on her little backpacking trip. There was nothing to prevent Castle from bringing Ellie back to the loft. He protected Alexis from his flings—she would concede that—but Alexis was gone.

"That sounds nice, Ellie, but actually, I already have plans tonight… Yeah, I'm sorry about that… Thanks for calling, though. It is terrible about Bobby… Yeah… Bye."

He hung up and turned back to her.

She threw him a confused look. "You have plans tonight? What plans?"

He blinked. "Plans? No, no plans, why?"

"You just told Ellie Monroe that you had plans."

He gave her a look. "I was being polite, Beckett. My mother raised me to try to avoid hurting a woman's feelings."

"You turned her down," she realized a little incredulously. "You do realize that Ellie Monroe was just making a booty call, whatever she said was her reason for calling."

He raised his eyebrows at her, giving her a look that made her blush in spite of herself. "Believe me, Beckett, I can recognize a booty call when I hear one."

"And you don't have plans but you still turned down a booty call from a beautiful actress?"

He frowned. "Why, do you think I should take Ellie up on her offer?"

I just… I mean, I thought you would seeing as how you were all over each other on the show." (_Shut up, Kate._)

He smirked, raising his eyebrows. "You sound jealous, Beckett."

She managed a creditable snort. "I am not jealous."

He didn't look convinced. (Damn him.) "Well, if you must know, Beckett, it was a TV show, emphasis on 'show.' It's what you do, you play along with the host and the other guests and try to give the audience what they want, something to make you memorable. Pretending to hook up with an actress on the show—that gets attention. It's part of the publicity game."

Oh. Well. That actually… made sense. And she knew, although he didn't say, that for him, the publicity thing was part of his job, something he was obligated to do, much like attending official department meetings was for her.

And then, of course, he ruined it by smirking at her, his eyebrows waggling. "But it's nice to know that you get jealous when I show interest in other women. Duly noted, Beckett."

She glared at him, all warmer feelings forgotten in her irritation. She was seriously going to kill him one day. She didn't know how she'd resisted killing him for so long. "For the last time, I am _not_ jealous. You can do whatever you want in your personal life. You always do, anyway," she huffed.

He frowned, the smirk dropping from his face, until he looked almost… hurt? "Thank you, but I don't need to get permission from you or anyone else before making my own decisions regarding my personal life."

She pasted on a casual, nonchalant expression. "Ellie Monroe seems like just your type. She's a beautiful actress who's clearly interested in you."

He made a small face. "My type? An actress who's only interested in me for my fame and my money?" His expression darkened a little before he added, "No, Beckett, as the saying goes, been there, done that, got the t-shirt. And I have the alimony payments to prove it."

"But Meredith… had a child with you. She couldn't have been—that doesn't seem like someone only interested in fame and money." Kate didn't know why she was defending Meredith; it wasn't as if she had even liked the woman in the one time she'd met Meredith. But something about his expression, the way his normally clear blue eyes had clouded over, turned almost gray over some painful episode of his past, got to her and she suddenly wanted to reassure him, comfort him somehow.

He glanced around, dropping his voice before he answered, "Alexis… she wasn't planned. And Meredith made her feelings and motivation quite clear when she spent the bulk of our marriage out and about, _entertaining_ herself while I was at home with Alexis."

Something about the hard emphasis he put on the word made Kate's heart clench, plummeting like a stone into her stomach, realization swamping her. Oh. Meredith had cheated on him.

Kate decided she definitely hated Meredith.

It wasn't as if cheating spouses were uncommon in their cases—after her time in Vice and Homicide, Kate had no illusions about how widespread infidelity in marriage was—but still Kate felt oddly shocked. What woman in her right mind would cheat on Richard Castle?

Kate felt a sudden wave of belated guilt. Last year, when Meredith had visited, Kate remembered idly wondering what had caused the break-up of Castle's marriages and had concluded that he must have cheated. It had made sense, with his Page Six reputation and the fact that he hadn't made any attempt at hiding his playboy tendencies when they'd first met. He signed women's chests, for heaven's sake. Him cheating had fit the picture she'd formed of him, the egotistical jackass and celebrity playboy.

She hadn't thought about it since—if she had, she would have come to a different conclusion, she thought. She hoped. She knew him better than that now, didn't she? This was Castle, her friend, her partner. She had thought just that only days ago when she'd talked to him about Alexis and Meredith, that he wasn't the person Page Six (or even his own attitude back then) made him out to be when they'd first met.

He was irritating and, yes, could be a jackass at times, and had undoubtedly slept with his fair share of women—but for all that, he was a good man. He had… integrity. And seeing the look in his eyes now, hearing the edge in his voice, Kate knew with sudden, absolute certainty that Richard Castle would not have been unfaithful.

She wanted to say she was sorry but that wouldn't do any good. She cast around in her mind for something, anything, that would distract him, clear the gloom from his eyes. "Oh, speaking of Alexis, did I mention that she sent me a text message this morning with a picture she'd taken of the sunrise and saying she'd never really realized before just how much of the beauty of sunrise she missed from living in the city?"

As always, the mention of Alexis did the trick, his expression softening, warming, a smile starting in his eyes and spreading to his lips. "She's been texting you?"

Kate shrugged a little. "Not on a regular basis. It was just the one message this morning and she sent me one yesterday, after she'd left, told me to be sure and look after you while she was gone."

His eyes crinkled with a smile.

Kate added teasingly, "She said that you're hopeless at taking care of yourself when she's not around so she had to rely on me."

That made him pout. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and I'll thank both her and you to remember that I am the parent and it's my job to worry about her, not her job to worry about me."

Kate reached out intending to pat his arm with deliberate condescension but at the last second, stopped, dropping her hand. No, she shouldn't touch him, not even to pat his arm. Touching him, in any way, was dangerous. "I'm sure Alexis will be very proud of you for finally realizing that."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You're mocking me again, Beckett," he complained.

She shot him a teasing look. "Of course I'm mocking you, Castle. I consider it part of my job to keep your ego from getting too puffed up; otherwise it'll grow to be so big that not even Manhattan will be big enough to contain it and then everyone will be in danger."

"I thought a muse would encourage as well as inspire," he pretended to grumble. "Maybe I need to find a new muse."

"When I've gotten used to you pulling my pigtails, I can't in good conscience let you go off and torment some other cops." She pulled a face of mock horror. "I have more loyalty to the force than that. I owe it to the NYPD to make sure you don't bother anyone else. No, Castle, I think I'm stuck with you."

"Oh, you're definitely stuck with me, Beckett," he murmured.

She fought back a blush just from his husky, seductive tone—his bedroom voice (_shut up, she wasn't going to think about him in those terms_)—and turned away, busying herself with gathering up her things.

She and Castle traded theories about what had been going on with Bobby Mann as they ate Chinese takeout for dinner and then afterwards as they watched the news, many taken up with reporting on Bobby Mann's sudden death. It felt normal and comfortable and if Kate occasionally found herself distracted, a little warm flutter in her chest, at the thought that he was spending the evening in his home, talking out murder theories with her rather than out with Ellie Monroe, well, she tried not to focus on it too much.

It wasn't anything personal, had nothing to do with _her_, had just been Castle thinking that Ellie Monroe was a little too much like Meredith. That was all. Not that she cared.

They spent the next day tracing Bobby Mann's whereabouts on the night he died and narrowing down the time window for the poisoning. Kate found them drifting in closer to each other, as tended to happen, when they got pulled into their theory-building, tossing ideas back and forth until Kate realized that Mann must have gone to the Comic Factory. She exchanged small smiles with Castle. They really did work well together.

Just then, Castle's phone rang and he turned away from her. "Hello."

Kate listened almost in spite of herself. It was unusual for Castle to be interrupted by phone calls during the middle of a case. Ellie Monroe's little booty call yesterday had been the first such interruption in a while.

"Oh, hi!… Yeah, sure… Thanks…. That sounds great… I'll see you later."

He turned back, his manner distracted. "Hey, you and the boys have this covered, right? I—uh—I have to go. Something to take care of. I'll… see you back at the loft later, okay?"

And with that less-than-explicit excuse, Castle bolted before she could so much as respond leaving her to stare at his back.

What—oh. Oh wait. Kate felt something cold twist through her gut, again, as she suddenly thought that Ellie Monroe might have tried again.

Castle had told Ellie he had plans last night but if Ellie tried again, it wouldn't be so easy for him to use the same excuse and maybe Castle had decided that her persistence meant she was interested in more than just his fame and money. Or maybe last night had been a fluke, an aberration.

She had told him that he could do whatever he wanted in his personal life. Maybe he was taking her at her word. And after all, how many times could any man withstand a temptation like Ellie Monroe?

Kate had a sudden vivid mental image of how closely Ellie and Castle had been sitting on the show, of the way Ellie had deliberately pressed her breast against Castle's arm.

Of course Ellie would try again, a beautiful, sultry actress like that who'd probably never been turned down in her life. And Castle was charming and attractive—Kate knew all too well just how physically attractive he was.

And of course Castle would give in. He was a red-blooded man, one who appreciated beautiful women, and he was a free agent, as she'd made very clear to him. He had every right to sleep with whomever he wanted.

The more Kate thought about it, the more convinced Kate became that Castle really had just rushed out to meet with Ellie. After all, why else would he have had trouble meeting her eyes as he stammered his excuses before leaving?

No, Castle must have decided to take Ellie up on her booty call. And, well, that answered that question. Not that there'd really been a question.

She and Castle weren't… anything. Just friends and work partners.

_He cares about you, Kate. _

Maybe he did but for what? A brief, casual relationship that would no doubt die a natural death when the thrill of the chase was gone and he no longer needed to do more research for his books and she got fed up with his irritating qualities? She didn't doubt that a physical relationship with Castle would be great. But she also had no faith that it would last, that it wouldn't burn hot and then flare out just as quickly. And it wasn't as if he'd given her any indication that he wanted a real relationship. She knew he wanted her but that was lust and she had no more interest in being one of Castle's conquests now than she had had back when they'd first met.

No, she had _less_ interest in being one of Castle's conquests now. Back when they'd first met, if she'd given in to his flirting and her (strenuously denied) physical attraction to him, it could have been a casual fling on both sides.

Now, though, there was too much between them for them to have a casual fling. He'd somehow made his way past her defenses, had become her friend and her partner—oh, who was she kidding? He'd made her _like_ him, made her start to want more—

Well, now she knew. Better to find out now, she told herself, before she'd allowed herself to drift any closer to Castle. She'd wondered how to define this thing with Castle and now she knew. This whatever-this-was with him—it was friendship, albeit a friendship made somewhat messy by undeniable physical attraction, but it was friendship. That was all.

It was fine. She was fine. She was glad, even, to find out early, before anything had happened to make things awkward between her and Castle.

They were friends and partners. And she was just _fine_.

_~To be continued…~_

* * *

_A/N 2: __*runs and hides* _


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, for reading and for reviewing! I am beyond thrilled to have broken the 100 review mark for this fic. A long chapter and the second one dealing with "The Late Shaft."

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 9_

A little while later, after the boys had returned from their visit to the Comic Factory and updated her on their conversation with Angel Santana, Kate made her way back to the loft after stopping off at the comfort food truck. Because she just felt like it, not because she needed comfort.

Her steps slowed a little, automatically, as she approached the door to the loft, automatically listening—would he have—he wouldn't have brought Ellie Monroe back to the loft, would he, knowing she would be coming back later? If he had…

Kate pushed open the door to the loft slowly but then relaxed as it became immediately clear that the loft was empty.

Wherever Castle was and whomever he was with, he wasn't at the loft.

Kate had dinner in solitary splendor in the loft, trying to reread one of Agatha Christie's short story collections. She forced herself to eat, ignoring the fact that her throat felt a little tight and the food seemed strangely tasteless, as she tried to pretend she wasn't picturing Castle with Ellie Monroe.

She didn't care. It didn't matter to her what he did in his personal life.

He'd left the precinct more than three hours ago. Any other errand would surely have allowed him to come home before now, right? It had to be a rendezvous. See, she'd been right about Castle and Ellie Monroe.

Kate gave up on trying to eat any more. Instead, she curled up on the couch with the Christie book and attempted to lose herself in it.

She stiffened when she heard the door open and schooled her expression into blankness before she turned to look at him.

He smiled when he saw her and he was—she blinked a little—carrying a box in one arm.

"Oh good, you're home. I wasn't sure if you'd still be at the precinct or not."

He looked… happy, excited in that quintessential Castle way.

_A post-coital buzz?_, a part of Kate's mind thought sourly and she inwardly flinched.

He put the box down on the coffee table. "Just wait here for a minute. I have something for you." With that, he disappeared into his office, leaving Kate more confused by the second.

He—she'd thought—he had something for her? He'd bought her a gift? But what on earth had taken him so long since he'd left the precinct in such a rush? And yet, Kate couldn't imagine that Castle would have slept with Ellie Monroe and then on his way back to the loft, thought to pick up a gift for another woman. He wasn't that type of man.

Maybe he hadn't met up with Ellie Monroe after all. Maybe Kate had been wrong…

The flood of relief she felt, the sudden easing of the tightness in her throat and in her chest, told her everything she needed to know about just how much she had come to care. She didn't know how to define their relationship but she knew that it wasn't only friendship on her part anymore. She was past that. She'd thought that she might be getting closer to exploring this thing with Castle, seeing where it might take them. But even without her consciously realizing it, her emotions had outstripped her mind. Her heart was in this, at least to some extent, even if her brain still wasn't quite.

And she realized too just how vulnerable she was to being hurt now.

If he wasn't in this, if he didn't want a real relationship, _if…_

And she was terrified.

Because Castle could hurt her terribly, could break her heart. Maybe even worse than Will ever had and she'd thought, for at least a while, that she might _marry_ Will.

And she didn't know what to do about that, because every cautious instinct in her told her to hold back, to run from too much vulnerability. Castle was dangerous. He was risky. She'd always thought so and it was even more true now that she knew just how deeply her feelings for him—and she wasn't ready to define those feelings—went, how much she'd come to care.

(She didn't _want_ to have feelings for Castle. But then her apartment had exploded and he'd saved her life and he'd welcomed her into his home and his family and he'd let her see the way he was with his mother and daughter and he'd made her realize that, as much as he annoyed her at times, she also liked spending time with him, enjoyed his company, and… And—damn him anyway—he'd made it so _easy_ to start to actually _care_ about him.)

His reappearance had Kate pushing aside her thoughts.

He was carrying another box this time, a package that Kate recognized as one that had been delivered about a week ago. He had taken one look at it and proclaimed that he knew what it was and that it was for him and he'd taken it with him into his office and she'd never seen it again.

He sat down beside her on the couch, smiling but with something like trepidation edging into his smile now. "I… uh… got you something," he began.

She couldn't help but smile. "Did I forget that it was my birthday or something?"

He laughed a little. "Can't a friend get another friend a random gift?"

"I suppose," she drew out the word with pretend reluctance before she let her smile widen, holding out her hand. "So, give me my gift." She wouldn't normally be quite so openly happy—eager—over a gift but something about his bright, sparkling eyes and clear anticipation over her seeing what he'd gotten her was infectious. And with the warmth lingering in her chest from the knowledge that he hadn't after all been with Ellie Monroe but had instead been preparing this surprise for her…

He returned her grin and handed her first the box he'd been holding when he came in. "This first."

She took the box, a little surprised at the solid weight of it. It was about the size of a shoe box, only not quite as deep, and she shook it a little but couldn't hear anything. She slipped the top cover off the box slowly, drawing out the moment in a way she normally didn't but Castle's knee was bouncing with impatience and she couldn't resist the impulse to tease him. Equally slowly, she drew back the layers of tissue paper and then gasped a little, her smile fading as sudden tears started in her eyes.

The familiar faces of her parents smiled up at her, the picture one she vaguely remembered seeing before, only now the image had been beautifully copied onto a tile and inlaid in the cover of a jewelry box. She drew the box out slowly, noting the detail carved into the corners of the wood, and then opened the box to see the plain velvet lining the interior. And nestled on top of the velvet was the original photograph. Her throat was tight as she closed the jewelry box again, her fingers lightly tracing her mom's smiling face.

She had to swallow hard before she managed to look up at Castle. "How did you—I don't—where did—I had a keepsake box with my parents' picture in a frame on the cover. I… kept my dad's watch and my mom's ring in it but it was destroyed. How did you know?"

His excited smile had softened into one of the faint, warm smiles that mostly just brightened his eyes and only barely curved his lips, one of the smiles she usually saw when he was looking at Alexis. "I didn't know," he answered quietly. "But I guessed, knowing you, knowing what your dad's watch and your mom's ring mean to you, that you would have a special place to keep them."

He did know her and what he didn't know, he guessed, and she was finding that his guesses were more accurate than she would have expected.

"I know a guy," he continued on. "He makes custom jewelry boxes and some other things. I had him design an extra-large one especially for my mother a few years ago for her to keep all her necklaces and bracelets in," he added in an aside. "He does good work and if you give him a picture, he can have the picture copied, as you see."

"But how did you get the picture?"

"Your dad gave it to me."

She blinked and gaped at him. "You met with my dad?" She was momentarily distracted as she realized that she had missed seeing this first meeting between her dad and the man who… who had somehow, strangely, amazingly, become one of the best friends she had. What had her dad thought of Castle? What had Castle thought of her dad?

His smile deepened slightly. "Yeah. Ryan gave me his number when I asked for it and I called him, explained what I was planning, and met with him last week to get the picture."

"That was your mysterious lunch appointment?" she guessed. Castle had claimed that he was meeting a friend for lunch one day last week and hadn't returned to the precinct until close to the end of the workday. And when she'd asked him what kind of lunch appointment took almost 5 hours, he had only shrugged and started rambling on about errands and throwing in theories about worm holes and alien abductions until she'd lost all patience and rather sternly ordered him to shut up. He'd been deflecting to avoid having to answer her question and then annoyed her so she entirely forgot her curiosity, she realized now.

He nodded. "Yeah. I got the picture from your dad and then drove to Dobbs Ferry to drop it off with my guy. He called earlier today to tell me that the box was ready so that was where I went."

"You drove all the way up to Dobbs Ferry and back just to pick this up?" she asked. He would have gotten stuck in the rush hour traffic on the way up to Dobbs Ferry and it was at least an hour's drive even without traffic. It was no wonder he'd been gone for nearly 4 hours.

He shrugged. "Well, the guy doesn't exactly FedEx the boxes he makes."

"Castle, I… thank you." She gave him a smile, hoping that he would be able to see just how much it meant to her because she couldn't think of the words. He was the one with the words. She could only feel the warmth in her chest, the tightness in her throat, and think that she couldn't remember the last time anyone had ever done anything that meant more. It was probably the most thoughtful gift she had ever received. It stunned her and humbled her and rather scared her too, thinking about the thought and time and money and effort he had put into having this made for her.

"You're welcome," he said quietly.

Their eyes met and held for a long minute and Kate found herself thinking for about the millionth time in the last couple weeks that in her entire life, she didn't think she'd ever met anyone with eyes as deeply blue as his were. Her breath tangled in her throat, the familiar flock of butterflies again appearing in her stomach. She felt the now-familiar tug of attraction deep inside her, the force of this thing between them as inexorable and undeniable as gravity, made even stronger because it wasn't wholly physical but was mingled in with all her muddled _feelings_ for him.

But then he blinked and looked away, straightening up a little, and she suddenly felt like she'd been doused in cold water.

He cleared his throat a little. "I got you something else too."

He handed over the package he'd retrieved from his office and Kate took a steadying breath before she opened up the box.

Kate had to laugh. He had bought her a box set of _Temptation Lane_ DVD's.

She looked up at him with a smile. "Thanks, Castle."

He returned her smile with a small smile of his own but his eyes and his voice were sober, thoughtful, as he explained, "I thought about what you said about how watching _Temptation Lane_ made you feel like home. You've joked a couple times about being homeless and I just thought this might help. I know it's not the same as having your own place, your own space, but a home isn't about the things inside it so much as it's about a feeling, a feeling of being comfortable and safe and serene. And I wanted you to be able to recapture that feeling of being home whenever you want to, whenever you need to."

He lifted his shoulders in a small, self-deprecating shrug as if to indicate that it had been a silly thing to do.

Oh _Castle_. For the billionth time or so, she marveled that the same man who could be such an irritating hyper-active child, always ready with a quip or a joke, could also be so understanding, so… sweet. This man, who had opened up his own home to her in an instant. And now he'd bought her a DVD set of a silly TV show just because she'd said it made her feel like home.

It was such a Castle-like thing to do. A generous, thoughtful gesture with a little bit of silliness and a lot of symbolic significance.

"Thanks," she said again. "Really. The jewelry box and then this, I don't… I really appreciate it." She inwardly cringed a little at how lame the words sounded. She found herself wishing, for the second time in as many minutes, that she had even a little of Castle's gift for words. Castle could, no doubt, come up with a speech that somehow managed to express all she felt, how much his thoughtfulness meant to her. Castle would probably even have managed to come up with words to explain her own muddled feelings. But Kate wasn't like that.

She looked at him and the question of why he would do so much for her caught in her throat. She wanted to know and she didn't want to know, terrified that whatever his motivation, it wasn't personal, about her specifically, as she wanted it to be. She knew him and she knew he was a generous man; he liked to help people, take care of them, liked to give people things. The espresso machine for the precinct, the way he'd started bringing her coffee every day, the way he brought in food of some sort enough to feed the entire Homicide division on a regular basis, the way he freely offered tickets to sporting events to the boys and, when the boys asked about a specific event, didn't bat an eye before offering to call up his ticketing agent. For Valentine's Day, he'd helped Ryan get reservations at a fancy, exclusive restaurant to take Jenny out on a date and because the owner of the restaurant was a personal friend, ensured that Ryan would get a discount, and then lent Ryan his Ferrari for the evening. It was just the sort of man he was.

She knew he cared about her but what if it really was just as a friend, a good friend even, and as a partner? She was suddenly swamped with doubts, newly, terrifyingly conscious of just how vulnerable she was to being hurt. (This was why she didn't like to let people in.)

He was _Richard Castle_, multimillionaire, best-selling author. He was consistently named one of the New York Ledger's Most Eligible Bachelors. He had beautiful movie stars like Ellie Monroe throwing themselves at him. And he was funny and charming and kind; he could have any woman he wanted. Even assuming he wanted a real relationship—and she had no idea if he did—why would he want one with _her_, a regular cop and one who came with a host of emotional scars and baggage, one who was defensive and closed-off and had issues with trusting people? He might want her physically, she didn't doubt that he did, but how long would that last?

Oh god, she _hated_ feeling so vulnerable. Hated feeling so… uncertain.

"Beckett, now that I've given you your gifts, is there any food to eat?" he asked plaintively. "I skipped dinner to drive up to Dobbs Ferry and I'm starving."

She managed a small laugh at his pitiful expression and stood up and, on an unthinking impulse, grasped his hand to pull him up with her. "I promised Alexis I'd look after you while she's gone so I can hardly let you starve now, can I?"

"Alexis would be very upset to come home and find that I'd become a skeleton," he agreed gravely.

She released his hand once he was standing, wondering why she could swear she still felt the lingering imprint of his hand on hers, the lingering warmth of it, and automatically shoved the hand into her pocket as she accompanied him to the kitchen.

"I stopped off at the comfort food truck on my way home. There are leftovers in the fridge," she told him and caught the flicker of something in his eyes and belatedly realized that she'd referred to the loft as home. She never had before, had always been careful, obsessively so, to avoid referring to the loft as her home in these past weeks. She'd caught herself from letting the word slip a few times before but it had come out now.

He looked as if he were about to say something but then he clearly thought better of it, opening the fridge instead.

"Ooh, comfort food," he enthused. "The perfect meal."

She shook her head when he made a gesture asking if she wanted to have any and busied herself with making herself some tea while he re-heated the food.

He slid onto one of the stools at the kitchen island with his food with a small sigh of satisfaction.

She couldn't entirely hide her small smile as she watched him eat, unable to deny the warmth curling through her. Funny, ridiculous man. This man, who had just given her two of the most thoughtful gifts she'd ever received in her life.

"You met my dad?" she asked after a minute, her mind returning to that distracting thought, as she sipped her tea.

"Don't worry, Beckett. I promise I was on my very best behavior."

She gave him a sideways teasing look. "Coming from you, I'm not sure how much that's worth."

He feigned dismay. "Beckett, I'm hurt! I can be good when I need to be."

She was expecting him to slide into an innuendo, his voice lowering as he made some suggestive comment, maybe something about proving just how good he could be, but he didn't. She blinked and inwardly frowned a little, confusion flickering through her. It wasn't the first time he hadn't come up with a suggestive comment or made some innuendo in the last few days, she realized. She hadn't thought much of it but it was becoming a little noticeable, at least to her, who was always the object of the suggestive remark, the one to whom he directed his low, husky, seductive voice. There'd been chances that had been almost tailor-made for one of his little leers and teasing innuendos but he hadn't made them.

She still caught him giving her the occasional look, his eyes automatically dropping to her lips or her chest or her hips or her legs. But in his words, it sometimes seemed as if he was holding back, a filter in place against the usual suggestiveness of his immature man-child mind.

She told herself she was imagining it, making a mountain out of a mole hill, but a little niggle of confusion remained.

"I talked to my dad just this weekend and he never mentioned meeting you."

Castle sent her a teasing smile. "Well, you know, Beckett, I did tell him that this was meant to be a surprise which sort of means that you couldn't know about it."

She pretended disgruntlement. "Enlisting my own father to lie to me is your idea of being on your best behavior, Castle?"

"Hey, I only told your dad I wanted to surprise you; everything else must have been your dad deciding he was okay with playing along so you would be surprised."

She couldn't keep up her pretense of annoyance any longer, gave in to her smile. "It was a nice surprise."

He smiled, his eyes bright. "I'm glad."

There was another pause before he asked, changing the subject, "So what did the boys find out at the Comic Factory? Was Bobby Mann actually there the night he died?"

She filled him in on what the boys had found out, what Angel Santana had told them.

He got a familiar abstracted look in his eyes as he thought about the story, his writer's mind playing with it, coming up with explanations.

She gave him a teasing look. "So, the boys and I were wondering, as our resident somewhat-famous person, does it make sense to you that Bobby Mann would vandalize Angel Santana's bike just because she refused to go on his show?"

He pretended offense. "Bobby Mann doesn't invite 'somewhat famous' people to appear on his show. All his guests are actual, real celebrities, including me."

She scoffed. "If you insist, Mr. Famous Person. So, what's your great insight into how famous people think?"

He gave a considering frown. "I'm not sure keying Angel Santana's bike fits with what we've heard about Bobby's mood lately. Maybe the being paranoid part but not with how he wanted his ex-wife to reassure him that he was a good person. Also, I don't see why he should take Santana's refusing to go on his show so personally and she said that she turned his show's offer down a few weeks ago. That seems like a long time to hold a grudge over something like that."

"Yeah, I'm not sure I see it either. But then, as Ryan put it, aren't all famous people narcissistic and crazy?"

He snorted. "Remind me to give Ryan a hard time for that tomorrow. Ooh, or better yet, you should send him dumpster diving on the next case!"

She smirked. "What, for stating the truth? Nope, can't do that. I believe in encouraging people to tell the truth."

"You think you're so funny, Beckett. Maybe you should try out at the Comic Factory," he riposted.

"No thanks. I'll stick with being a cop."

He heaved an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. "'For of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: It might have been.'"

She knew that line from somewhere… "John Greenleaf Whittier," she identified after a moment.

He stared at her. "It is so hot that you read," he blurted out.

"And you writers are turned on by the strangest things," she parried with a small laugh, fighting a blush and trying not to focus on the delight that wriggled through her. (_You are such a goner, Kate._) It wasn't as if he hadn't called her hot before and it wasn't as if she wasn't aware that she was attractive. But something about Castle's unfiltered admiration—and the fact that his admiration was for her brains more than her body at the moment—thrilled her.

She _liked_ it, liked _him_. (Oh god, another minute and she'd be twirling her hair, giggling, and passing notes in class. _Get it together, Kate._)

She blinked, straightening up in an attempt at regaining her composure. "Well, as interesting as Angel Santana's story is, it doesn't tell us why Mann was killed or where he went after the Comic Factory and we know he didn't eat or drink anything at the club."

"Cheer up, Beckett," he said expansively. "After all, I have no other plans tomorrow so I can focus entirely on the case."

She rolled her eyes. "And I suppose your crime-solving expertise will single-handedly ensure that all the leads just fall right into our hands and maybe the killer will decide to turn himself in?"

"I wasn't talking about me alone," he protested and paused significantly.

She suppressed a smile. They did make a pretty good team, she had to admit.

And then he finished, "Esposito and Ryan are good cops too."

Why, that…

She reached out and flicked his ear lobe, making him yelp and lean back, one hand covering his ear protectively, as he gave her an exaggeratedly hurt look.

She raised a challenging eyebrow at him. "Care to revise your statement, Mr. Castle?"

"Fishing for compliments, Detective Beckett?" he countered.

Damn it. He had her there. Not that she would admit it to him.

"Just making sure you remember that you aren't the only person who can solve murders."

"I know that." He smirked. "I hear Nikki Heat is pretty good at solving murders too."

She tossed a napkin in his face. "Oh, shut up, Castle. You're not as funny as you think."

He caught the napkin and proceeded to leave it draped over his head like a strange sort of head covering and she snorted a laugh. He really was adorable. Silly and ridiculous but also adorable.

(_And really hot_, an errant voice in her mind interjected. Kate tried to glare the internal voice into submission but—yeah, he was really hot. He'd rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, as he often did when he ate, and his forearms were… delicious. He stretched a little, wriggling his shoulders to loosen them, and damn it, the movement emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the width of his chest in a way that did funny things to Kate's insides. And made her seriously wonder what he would do if she unbuttoned his shirt and asked him to wriggle his shoulders like that again and then proceeded to tell him how much she appreciated the width of his chest with her mouth. Only not in words.)

_(No, no. Stop it, Kate!) _

"You are such a child," she told him, as if saying so would somehow negate all the very, very adult things she wanted to do to him and with him—it didn't work—as she slid off her stool and moved around the island, collecting his plate and utensils as well as her mug.

He pulled the napkin off his head, sitting up. "Beckett, you don't need to…"

"It's fine, Castle," she cut him off. "I need to rinse my mug out too."

He closed his mouth, clearly deciding not to protest any further, and she hid a small smile. This had been an ongoing argument between them during the first week she'd been staying at the loft, with her trying to help out with the dishes and cleaning up after meals and him insisting that she was a guest and didn't need to do anything. He still tended to make token protests as he had just now but he had, for the most part, given up on arguing with her.

Her mug and his plate stowed in the dishwasher, she returned to the living room area, putting the _Temptation Lane_ DVDs on the shelf alongside the rest of Castle's extensive movie collection and gathering up the jewelry box. "Good night, Castle."

"Night."

She paused, turning back at the bottom step of the stairs. "Hey, Castle?"

"Hmm, what?"

"Thank you for… everything," she finally finished. Her throat was suddenly tight with emotion, again, overwhelmed at how much he had done for her. "You've been… a really good friend."

His expression softened into a faint smile. "Always."

Something in his tone, in his eyes, made her flush, her heart fluttering, before she turned and went upstairs—(_running away, you're still running, Kate_)—not stopping until she was safely in the guest bedroom.

Kate put the jewelry box down on the dresser and then slowly, carefully, opened it up, taking out the picture and then replacing the picture with her father's watch and her mother's ring. And felt tears pricking at the back of her eyes at once again being able to perform her little ritual again, of having a special place to keep these most precious keepsakes of her life. She had tried not to think about it but it had stung a little every night when she'd come upstairs and had to leave her father's watch and her mother's ring just sitting out on the dresser, as if they had little more significance than the loose change and other detritus that tended to accumulate in people's pockets over the course of a day.

She knew it was irrational but it had meant something to her, to put her father's watch and her mother's ring away together in the keepsake box with her parents' picture on the cover, the small ritual grounding her, the tangible reminders of the life she'd lost and the life she had saved.

And when the keepsake box had been destroyed in the explosion, she had lost the comfort of that little ritual, as seemingly insignificant as it should have been, and it had hurt, had made her feel unsettled and not quite herself. Throwing her off-balance every night as she'd slipped off her father's watch and realized, yet again, that there was no box to put it in.

Now, thanks to Castle, she could perform her ritual again.

She picked up the picture of her parents and propped it up against the base of the lamp on the nightstand.

She was still mostly living out of the one suitcase borrowed from Lanie, still had a limited selection of clothes hanging in the closet. Her eyes went from the picture of her parents to the jewelry box as warmth settled in her chest.

She looked around the guest bedroom of the loft and for the first time in the three weeks since the explosion and her stay at the loft had begun, she thought the room looked… lived in. For the first time, she thought that if the room could speak, it would say, _Kate Beckett lives here_.

* * *

Over the course of the next couple days, evidence fell into place and, in one of those moments of insight that Castle occasionally (more often than Kate would ever admit to him) had, he figured out that Bobby's old friend and co-host, Hank McPhee had killed Bobby because Bobby had been planning to replace Hank with the rising star, Angel Santana.

Kate pulled the pictures off the murder board, neatly stacking them in the evidence box. She paused at the picture of Bobby Mann. "To be killed by your own best friend," she commented quietly. "The ultimate betrayal aside from being killed by a family member."

This part might be what she hated most about her job, that it showed her so often how easily—and how often—people could turn on the people they supposedly loved. Showed her how rare true loyalty and friendship and love really were. The thought made a flicker of unease, of doubt, go through her. No one, aside from true sociopaths, planned from the beginning to betray or hurt or leave those they professed to love. But things happened, people changed, and people's loyalties and affections were often weak things, like kites that flew only as long as the winds were favorable.

"Well, Bobby did betray Hank first and the first betrayal begot the second one," Castle responded.

Kate suppressed a slight smile. Begot, really? If she was ever in danger of forgetting that Castle was a writer, he opened his mouth and used a word like that. "It doesn't mean he deserved to die."

"No, of course not, but Hank did have a point. Bobby chose his career over a friendship of 35 years. From a business standpoint, I suppose I can understand the impulse, but a friendship that long-standing, no, I can't understand that. He and Hank had been best friends for so long and real, disinterested friendship is too… rare, too precious. Bobby should have realized that."

Kate glanced at him. "You sound like you're… taking it personally."

He shrugged a little but after a moment, answered, thoughtfully, his gaze abstracted, "I know how hard it is to find real, disinterested friends. And I keep coming back to what Bobby's first wife said, that she was the only woman who fell in love with him before all the fame and money… Hank and his first wife—the two people who cared about Bobby before he became rich and famous and Bobby betrayed both of them. No, when you're as rich and famous as Bobby Mann was and you have real, disinterested affection, you hold on to it."

"You don't believe that someone can find disinterested affection after they become rich and famous?" Kate asked, a little tentatively, her heart twisting a little.

He looked over at her. "That's not what I said. I just meant… it's a lot harder to find real friends when you're rich and famous so if—when—you find them, you shouldn't let them go."

Kate gave up on trying to pretend he wasn't talking about himself. "But Castle, you… have lots of friends. You always say you have a guy everywhere. And you can't think your poker buddies—Cannell and Patterson and Connelly—like you for your fame and money since they're even more famous and richer than you are," she added with a bit of teasing entering her voice.

She was rewarded for that little barb with a small smile. "No, you're right but they're not just friends, they're also work colleagues and my competitors in a sense, it's not quite the same."

"You know you have real friends here, right, Castle? Espo and Ryan and Lanie and LT and the Captain."

He shot her a sideways glance. "You're not including yourself in that list, Beckett?"

She gave him a teasing look. "No, my friendship isn't the least bit disinterested. I keep you around for the coffee."

He laughed aloud. "Feel free to use me for my coffee as long as you want."

She grinned at him, a teasing rejoinder on the tip of her tongue, when another thought occurred to her. "Oh, we should head back to the loft. Alexis is coming back tonight, isn't she?"

He straightened up, all abstraction vanishing from his manner. "Yes. What time is it?" He glanced at his watch. "Yeah, we should head home. I wanted to make a special dinner for her."

Kate quickly finished pulling all the pictures off the murder board and then dropped the lid over it. "Come on, Castle. I think we can worry about erasing the board tomorrow."

Back at the loft, they argued, briefly, over the issue of Kate helping out before Castle agreed that she could set the table, instructing her to go all out and use the cloth napkins as opposed to the paper ones that they normally used, while he took care of the cooking. Afterwards, Kate insisted and Castle, somewhat grudgingly, agreed to let her help with the cooking too so she busied herself making a salad and then slicing up bread, among the simplest tasks and therefore the only ones he would really allow her to do. She rolled her eyes at him but after a little while, they settled into working in (relatively) harmonious tandem in a way they hadn't before.

In the weeks since Kate had been staying at the loft, the only times she'd really been permitted to help with making dinner were when Alexis, sometimes with Martha and sometimes without, was in charge of cooking, both of them being more receptive to help—or were less pig-headed about it, as Kate told Castle tartly. When Castle was the one in charge, Kate had found that he could be quite as stubborn as she was and, unlike at the precinct where, when it really mattered, he usually gave way and let her win, at the loft, he flatly refused. Kate had threatened him at various times with shooting, maiming, and defenestration, among other things, especially at first, but he'd stood firm and after the first week, Kate had accepted that arguing wasn't going to get her anywhere and they'd reached the compromise that she was permitted to help with the clean-up, even if he still tended to make token protests.

She wasn't sure how much of Castle's newfound spirit of cooperation in the kitchen was due to his going all out in his elaborate three-course dinner plan to welcome Alexis home after her trip but she figured she would take it and hope that it marked a first step.

The sound of a key in the lock had Castle dropping everything, hastily rinsing his hands (but without stopping to dry them), and positively scurrying across the loft to greet Alexis as she came in. "Oh, my Sacagawea has returned!" he crowed delightedly, throwing his arms around Alexis, backpack and all, squeezing and then actually lifting Alexis off her feet for a minute. "Ooh, I missed you so much! Did you have fun? Tell me everything!"

Kate watched them with a smile. He was silly and ridiculous in his over-the-top excitement—so very Castle—but it was adorable and so endearing that he loved his daughter so much and so openly.

And Kate found herself suddenly thinking that if Richard Castle ever truly loved any woman even half as much as he loved his daughter, with all the depth and strength of his heart, that woman could trust him to be there for her, to be faithful to her in every sense of the word, to love her—to the gates of hell and even beyond that.

"I missed you too, Dad," Alexis was saying, returning Castle's hug. "Something smells good. I'm starving."

"Good. Dinner should be ready in about 5 minutes. Oh, and Gram said she'll be stopping by later, probably just in time for dessert, to welcome you home," Castle said, releasing Alexis.

Kate smiled and lifted a hand to wave at Alexis. "Hey, Alexis, welcome back. I think your dad might have missed you just a little," she added teasingly.

Alexis laughed. "Hi, Kate." Shrugging out of her backpack, she moved quickly towards the kitchen and then surprised Kate by proceeding to throw her arms around Kate.

Kate froze for a moment in utter surprise, too stunned to even hug Alexis back, before her brain belatedly kicked back into action and she closed her arms around the girl. Alexis had never hugged her before. Alexis was open and friendly and had been becoming more affectionate, occasionally touching Kate's arm or a couple times briefly squeezing Kate's hand, but she hadn't hugged Kate. Admittedly, Kate herself hadn't been particularly demonstrative either, not being accustomed to it. Her dad was the only person whom Kate hugged on a regular basis.

Now, Alexis was hugging her, greeting her with a hug as if it was something she did every day. Something warm and pleasant welled up in Kate's heart; it felt as if something that had been coiled up inside her chest for years had loosened a little.

Alexis released Kate almost before Kate had processed the wave of emotion. "Dinner looks good, Kate," she said, surveying the food. "Thanks for taking care of Dad while I was gone," she added after a cheeky glance at Castle. "I know he's a handful. I hope he didn't cause too much trouble."

"I'm standing right here," Castle complained. "I can hear you, you know."

Kate hid her smile, answering Alexis with exaggerated seriousness, as if Castle hadn't even spoken. "Oh, he behaved pretty well on the whole. No messes on the floor and he basically picked up after himself." She threw a smirk at Castle before turning back to Alexis. "You've trained him well."

Alexis smirked in turn as she turned to her dad. "Good Dad," she told him approvingly in the same tone as she would use to say, "good dog."

Castle huffed and narrowed his eyes at them both. "Just for that, I'm tempted to say that neither of you is getting any dinner tonight."

Kate gave him a look of feigned horror. "Withholding food from a weary traveller who's just returned home! I do believe that's a felony."

"Who says?" he shot back.

"I say and I am in law enforcement, you know."

Alexis laughed. "I'd listen to her, Dad. She has a gun and handcuffs and she's already arrested you once."

Castle shot her a look of mock disgruntlement. "I take it back. I didn't miss the way you two gang up on me at all."

At that moment, the oven timer went off, making them all jump and Castle let out a small yelp.

As the closest one to the oven, Kate was the one who slipped on the oven mitts and retrieved the pan with the sizzling roast while Castle, abruptly reverting to parental mode, instructed Alexis to wash her hands and sit down. He busied himself getting drinks for everyone and Kate stepped around him to put the salad bowl on the table.

And it was comfortable and familiar and so very domestic and for the first time, Kate didn't even try to deny the warmth inside her at the thought.

Her eyes went from Alexis to Castle, lingering on him for just a moment while he was busy and utterly oblivious.

This was what it felt like to be a part of a real family, _this_ family, and for the first time, the thought wasn't quite so scary anymore.

_~To be continued…~_

_A/N 2: The line Castle quotes is from the poem "Maud Muller" by John Greenleaf Whittier. _

_The keepsake box Kate mentions as having been destroyed in the explosion was the one we saw at the beginning and the end of 1x5 "A Chill Goes Through Her Veins." _


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, who's read, reviewed, favorited, and followed this fic so far. I'm blown away by the response this fic has received.

I don't normally jump around in time but I felt like the demands of storytelling required it in this case so this chapter actually happens a day or so after the events of Chapter 7. And it involves some dialogue taken from the deleted scene for "Knockdown" in which Castle meets Jim Beckett because I love that scene so much and decided that while I'm playing with canon in this fic, it was the perfect opportunity to incorporate at least some of that scene and write about it.

* * *

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 10_

_~A week earlier~_

Rick Castle was nervous.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this nervous except he thought it might have been around the time when he'd been waiting for Alexis to be born.

His palms were sweaty—he wiped them surreptitiously against his dress slacks.

He was ridiculously early for this lunch with Jim Beckett. He glanced at his watch again. Still more than 20 minutes until they were actually supposed to meet.

He glanced around the restaurant, not very large, quiet, not too casual and not overly formal either. When he'd first conceived of this idea, he'd briefly been tempted to meet with Jim Beckett at Le Cirque or some other ridiculously expensive restaurant but thought better of it. It might be a lunch but the high-end, very exclusive restaurants like Le Cirque tended to attract reporters lurking around the entrance, keeping an eye out for any famous people who could be fodder for news, and he didn't want any mention of him showing up on Page Six and certainly not with Jim Beckett, since this entire meeting was supposed to be a secret.

There was no reason to be so nervous. Really, there wasn't, he told himself bracingly.

Jim Beckett had been friendly over the phone when he had called and had agreed readily enough to meet with Castle for lunch and bring a picture of himself and Johanna with him.

On the other hand, it wasn't every day that a man met the father of the woman he was madly in love with for the first time.

A man who would hopefully—oh god—be his father-in-law one day, a voice in his mind inserted. _Shut up, shut up, Rick! That was not helping. _

But it was true, the same supremely unhelpful voice persisted.

He huffed out his breath, briefly closing his eyes.

Yes, it was true—terrifyingly true—but he really, really did not want to be thinking about that now.

Besides, he was being so far beyond premature in so much as even thinking in those terms about Kate since he still had no idea what, if anything, she felt for him beyond simple friendship and—he swallowed, hard, feeling a flush of heat sizzle through him—physical attraction.

She wanted him—thank the merciful fates. She wasn't obvious about it but he knew women, knew when attraction was mutual or not. He recognized it in the occasional, tell-tale color in her cheeks if he got too close, saw it in the shifting color of her eyes sometimes when she looked at him, heard it in the catch of her breath when she'd been bandaging his hand when he had cut it after the mummy's curse. He'd seen the way her eyes dropped down to his mouth sometimes. And just this morning, he'd seen the almost imperceptible flicker of her eyes when she'd seen him in the dress slacks and nice burgundy button-down he had donned in preparation for meeting her father for the first time. (He had almost worn a tie and full-on suit but there was no way he'd be able to justify dressing up that much for what was, as far as Beckett knew, a normal day at the precinct. So he had dressed relatively normally, if somewhat nicer than usual, since he flatly refused to wear jeans to meet the father of the woman he was in love with for the first time.)

Oh god, he was in love with her. Absolutely, irrevocably—terrifyingly—in love with her. And he was certainly terrified.

Terrified that she wouldn't give him a chance, terrified that she _would_ give him a chance and he would mess it up, terrified that she would realize how strongly he felt about her and run away, terrified that she might never love him back.

He felt a cold knife of dread slice straight through him just at the thought.

Because he was in love with Kate Beckett in a way that had him thinking about always and forever and picturing her in a long white dress. In love with her in a way he knew he'd never loved anyone before. And with every day that passed, he grew more certain, with every fiber of his hopeful, terrified heart, that she was _it_ for him.

He loved her and he needed her as much as he needed Alexis, and that was really not a comforting comparison.

It made him nervous, anxious. From somewhere, a corner of his mind thought, _Tread softly because you tread on my dreams_.* And that pretty much said it.

He had become accustomed to needing Alexis, to the extent that any parent could really get used to that level of all-consuming love for one's child, but Alexis was his baby, his little girl, and from the moment she'd been born, she had needed him too, relied on him for everything. She needed him less now that she was growing up—he twitched a little at the thought of how grown-up she was getting—but he was still her dad, her family.

He needed Kate but Kate was the most terrifyingly self-sufficient, independent woman he'd ever met in his life and he had a hard time imagining that Kate Beckett might ever need him in her life.

In his better, more confident moments, he told himself that he would be good for her personally, that his general optimism and hopefulness could leaven her own seriousness, somehow lighten her lingering grief over her mother, her ingrained empathy for the victims that he knew weighed her down. He told himself that he was smart enough to keep up with her and challenge her (which, given how clever she was, was likely not true of a whole lot of men)—if the way their minds worked in tandem to solve cases was any example, that was true enough and he had to try damn hard to match her wits and he loved that. He thought—hoped—that he was strong enough to help her, to be a partner to her in every sense. And unlike a lot of men, he wasn't intimidated by her brains and her drive (he only thought they made her even hotter).

The rest of the time, he couldn't imagine why any woman as remarkable as Kate Beckett would want to be with him. He knew he tended to be silly and irresponsible about some things—about lots of things except anything that related to Alexis, in all honesty—he was impulsive; he had some issues with trust; he could be careless and frivolous and arrogant and a wise-ass.

The past couple weeks since she'd been staying in the loft had been something of an exercise in mood swings. On the one hand, he was happier than he'd ever been in his life. It was a dream come true, in a way he'd never even imagined (he was frankly disappointed in how much his normally-vivid imagination had failed him about this), to live with Kate Beckett, to see her in the mornings (adorably grouchy) before she had her first coffee of the day and ate her breakfast, to see her relaxed and casual in the evenings, and to still spend all his days alongside Detective Beckett in the precinct. To see her talking and giggling—Kate Beckett giggled, who knew?—with his daughter, to see her smiling over his mother's stories. He knew he'd already been more than half in love with Kate by the time her apartment had exploded just from the way she challenged him, from seeing her blazing intelligence and focused intensity in the interrogation room, from being amazed at her strength to do what she did every day and still manage to laugh and smile and tease him. But seeing Kate in the loft, witnessing not just the depths of her strength but also the depths of her heart in the way she cared about Alexis, in seeing the tears in her eyes as she thought about her mom—it was no wonder he was a goner, had no doubt been doomed from long before Scott Dunn had decided to fixate on Nikki Heat.

But on the other hand, living with her and loving her as he did but without any guarantee of a return was probably the world's subtlest form of torture yet invented.

He wanted to tell her how he felt or, more likely perhaps, just give in to any of the billion thoughts he had per day about kissing her, but he told himself, yet again, that he wouldn't, couldn't, do anything so direct and relationship-changing while she was still staying at the loft. Because he didn't know how she felt and if she rejected him—his heart shriveled up a little in his chest just from imagining that—not only would his heart be broken, her stay at the loft would become heinously awkward and he didn't want to do anything that might force her out, not when he knew she didn't have anywhere else to go. He knew she hadn't found an apartment yet; he knew Manhattan housing prices and he knew the NYPD's pay scale so he wasn't surprised at this. And while a selfish part of him secretly rather hoped she'd never find another apartment and would just stay in the loft forever—and there were times he was seriously tempted to call up his realtor and ask her to be less than diligent in helping Beckett find a new apartment—he wouldn't do that, couldn't do that. He wasn't that kind of man. He wasn't going to pressure her when she was staying in his home out of necessity. He never ever wanted to put Kate into a position where she might feel she didn't have the freedom to choose or make her own decisions. He didn't think she would—this was Kate Beckett—but he knew the realities of the world too well not to know it was possible and happened all too often, especially to women.

No, he would wait. And hold back and not rock the boat of their current living situation in any way. It wasn't as if it was exactly a hardship to be sharing the loft with the daughter he adored and the woman he loved and see them interacting and growing closer. He was happy as they were right now. The domestic scenes they were creating with every shared meal—every _family_ meal because he wanted Kate to be family. He was living his dream. And he didn't dare do anything that might change that.

Even if it was anxiety-inducing to be so conscious that his heart and his happiness were entirely bound up in a woman who, as far as he knew, regarded him only as a friend, albeit (he hoped, by now) a good friend.

And he was realizing every day that he didn't particularly like knowing that his happiness was so dependent on someone else. It made him twitchy, at best.

An unsettled childhood where his mother had been the only constant figure had not made him comfortable with depending on anyone, not really, not for anything and certainly not for his emotional well-being. (And as much as he loved his mother, she'd been a single mother with a career, had often been distracted, and Martha Rodgers was not a calming presence at the best of times.) He'd moved around from school to school, never staying long at any of them, and that too had taught him not to get too attached because sooner or later, usually sooner, he would move and lose contact with his friends at every school.

He'd loved Kyra, had depended on her for encouragement and love and as one person who always accepted him for who he was—and then she'd left him. He'd fallen for Meredith because she'd been intoxicating and fun and had a way of making the entire world seem to revolve around her (now, in hindsight, he recognized that was because as far as Meredith had been concerned, the world did revolve around her but he'd been young and stupid then). And Meredith had given him Alexis and the family he'd always craved and he'd been so happy and so bound up in his little baby girl and would have given Meredith anything she wanted—and then Meredith had betrayed him and left him. With Gina, they had both been independent adults with their own lives and while he'd honestly cared about her and had believed they could be happy together, he'd still reserved the better part of his heart for Alexis, focused his energies and his love on Alexis—and Gina had left him too.

No, he didn't have a good track record with letting his happiness be bound up in anyone outside of his immediate family, certainly any woman, and the extent to which he found he needed Kate terrified him to the depths of his soul, in all honesty.

He could no longer imagine his life without her. She inspired him, not only in his writing, but in his _life_. She made him want to be better, want to do better. Her steadiness calmed him, soothed the restlessness that had always plagued his mind. He knew that he got bored easily and when he was bored, he tended to get complacent and rather lazy because he stopped trying, stopped caring, and had a tendency to act out in irresponsible ways in a wild effort to stave off boredom. He'd gotten bored with Derrick Storm and he knew that the last couple Storm books hadn't been as good as the others because of that, and he'd killed Storm off before the boredom could get any worse and only found himself even more lost, spiraling into blankness with no more words in him. And then he'd met Beckett—and somehow, in meeting her, he'd found himself again, found his words again. And in working with her at the precinct, he'd found a purpose, meaning, something to believe in. If the last couple weeks of spending almost every waking moment with Kate Beckett—and he wanted to spend a lot more of his waking moments with her, preferably alone and unclothed—_not going there, not helping_—had proven anything, it was that Kate Beckett was _never_ boring. She challenged him and kept him grounded and humble, and he knew he needed it because too much of the adulation and flattery of the publicity circuit tended to go to his head and make him cocky and arrogant. She made him think, she made him laugh, and with all that, damned if she wasn't also the _hottest_ woman he'd ever met in his life.

At that entirely inopportune moment, with that entirely inappropriate thought lingering in his mind—and the mental images invariably accompanying the thought—a tall, spare but still solidly-built older man with dark, graying hair entered the restaurant and then strode straight to him, holding out his hand. "Mr. Castle, I'm Jim Beckett."

Castle almost tripped over his own feet in his haste to stand up and shake the man's hand. "Mr. Beckett. Sir. It's an honor to finally meet you in person, sir."

_Smooth, Rick. Could you sound any more awkwardly formal? _

Mr. Beckett waved a hand as he sat down across the table. "No more of the 'sir.' Call me Jim."

Castle managed a smile, relaxing ever so slightly. "If you'll call me Rick."

Mr. Beckett—no, Jim—smiled faintly. "Rick. I feel like I already know you. I've heard a lot of great things about you from Katie."

_Katie._ The childish moniker momentarily caught at Castle's mind. It was so far removed from the confident Detective Beckett he knew so well, the one who stared down killers without blinking, who strode (and ran) around the city confidently in heels that would probably have sprained the ankles of lesser mortals, the one who brought all her intelligence and the sheer force of her personality to bear down on a suspect with such fierce intensity it was mesmerizing to watch (at least it was to him). It was even removed from the softer, (somewhat) more open Kate he was lucky enough to see at the loft, the Kate who gave him real smiles, who laughed at his jokes and joined forces with Alexis to tease him.

_Katie._ He imagined a little girl with brown hair and a happy, open smile, untainted by any grief or knowledge of how harsh a place the world could be, a girl who had cuddled up on the couch with her mother to watch _Temptation Lane_, a girl who must have cried and gotten upset over the usual trials and tribulations of childhood and being a teenager and who would have allowed her mother to comfort her, before she'd learned to develop that carapace of invulnerability that characterized her now.

And Beckett talked about him to her father? "Oh. Well, I'm a little surprised to hear that; I thought she would have spent her time complaining about how annoying I am," he joked.

Jim laughed a little. "Oh, at first, she did that too, but in the past few months, you seem to have grown on her."

"It's nice to know my persistence has paid off."

Jim smiled slightly. "It seems to have. She does admit you make things more fun."

"I try to," he answered more seriously. "She works so hard. I think she deserves to have more fun."

"I read your book, the one you wrote about Katie," Jim said after a moment.

"Oh." Castle smiled, a thank you hovering on the tip of his tongue, when he suddenly remembered—_oh crap_—Page 105 of _Heat Wave_. Remembered too what he'd done after he'd written that scene in the book.

"It was… interesting," Jim went on, a touch of steel entering his voice.

Castle fought the urge to squirm. Damn it, why the hell hadn't it ever occurred to him that Beckett's _father_ might read _Heat Wave_? Castle tried to imagine how he would feel on reading a sex scene—he inwardly cringed—about _his_ daugh—_no, no, he wasn't going there. Backing away, now, before his brain broke. Shit._

"Oh—uh—well—though my books are grounded in reality, a lot of the aspects of them are… are just pure fantasy." Castle stopped short, hearing what that sounded like. _Oh shit._ He had _not_ just admitted to Beckett's _father_ that he fantasized about her like that! He almost choked as he hurriedly added, "Not my—not my… my _personal_ fantasy. Just… out of my imagination." _Shut up! That didn't help either!_ "Not that I… uh… imagine that sort of thing about—imagine that all the time. Just… uh…" Castle fought the urge to bang his head against the table and gave up. "I'm… not doing a very good job explaining myself, am I?"

A slight twitch at the corners of Jim Beckett's mouth betrayed a hidden smile. (Oh. Weird. Castle recognized that little corner-lip-twitch. Beckett's lips did the same thing sometimes when she was fighting back a smile.) "I think you're doing fine, Rick."

Castle relaxed infinitesimally. He was still cringing, still thought he might need to bang his head against something hard, but he thought he might wait on that until after Jim Beckett left. No need to act even more like a lunatic than he'd already sounded. He did not want the father of the woman he was in love with to think he was completely crazy.

"Well. Thank you," he managed.

Jim's expression softened, a real smile appearing. "I did appreciate the dedication," he offered.

Entirely unconsciously, Castle's eyes and his face changed, softened, at the memory of the look on Beckett's face when she'd read it, the faint blush that had stained her cheeks, how endearingly flustered she had been as she thanked him, the way her breath had caught when he'd told her, with complete sincerity, that he'd meant it. "Yes, well, Beckett—that is, Kate—is extraordinary. I…" he trailed off, the words, _I love her,_ on the tip of his tongue but he couldn't just blurt that out. He'd only just met the man not even 5 minutes ago. "She's become… a good friend," he finally settled for saying.

Jim eyed him seriously. "Yes, I'm pretty sure Katie would say the same thing about you."

God, he hoped so. Castle's heart twisted inside him a little with painful, poignant hope. He did think Beckett considered him a friend, even a good one, and that meant everything to him but only being her friend, if there was no hope of anything more, might just kill him. (He was so doomed.)

Castle was, thankfully, distracted from considering his entirely-possible future heartbreak when the server arrived to ask for their orders and he and Jim both turned their attention to the menus and ordered.

Once the server had gone, Jim took a sip of water before he said, his voice much more subdued, "Actually, I was glad you called about meeting. I wanted to thank you in person for what you've done for Katie, for… saving her life when her apartment…" he swallowed and trailed off, clearly not quite able to refer to the explosion aloud.

Which Castle entirely understood. He tried to imagine how he would feel on hearing about a bomb anywhere near Alexis—his mind shied away, could not even consider it, his gut twisting violently. It suddenly occurred to him that Jim Beckett must have remarkable strength of character, a core of steel, not only to have overcome his debilitating sorrow over his wife's murder and his addiction but to have stayed sober while knowing that Kate was in danger so often because of her job. He didn't doubt that Johanna Beckett must have been a remarkable woman too; it was no wonder that Kate herself was so strong, a monument to strength.

"You're welcome," Castle responded sincerely and seriously. It wasn't the time to shrug off gratitude. "I think… I would probably do just about anything for Kate," he admitted. Because Jim was a father too and Castle knew how a father worried about his daughter.

"Thank you, Rick. I appreciate that." Jim paused and then, after a moment, reached into his jacket pocket, bringing out a photograph. "I brought a picture like you asked for."

Castle glanced down at the picture as he accepted it, recognizing a younger, happier version of Jim, before grief and time had carved lines into his face, and the same, smiling face of the woman whose picture he had seen on Johanna Beckett's case file. Recognition suddenly slammed into him in a way it hadn't before when he'd briefly considered the picture of Johanna Beckett—but then he hadn't been in love with Kate then. Kate looked like Johanna Beckett. The features were somewhat different, Kate's more delicate, more finely defined as if shaped by a master artist to show the world what female beauty should look like—_damn it, Rick, get a grip, that's almost sickening_—but Kate had Johanna's hair and eyes—the same beautiful eyes—and her smile.

He glanced back at Jim to see that the older man's expression had contorted a little in a rictus of devastation as he looked at the picture of himself and his dead wife and Castle inwardly flinched before he carefully, even reverently, slipped the picture inside his own jacket pocket.

"Thank you," Castle said quietly. "I'll take care of the picture."

Jim blinked, glanced away, took another sip of water, and then managed a small smile. "You were very cryptic over the phone. Can I ask what you're planning on doing with the picture?"

"Well, it's going to be a surprise for Kate since she lost so much of her things when she lost her apartment," Castle carefully skirted around referring to the bomb outright. "A friend of mine makes custom-made keepsake boxes and I thought Kate would appreciate a box that had a picture of you and her mother on it."

Jim smiled. "That sounds very nice, Rick. I'm sure Katie will like that."

Castle hoped so. Hoped even more that it would somehow show Kate how much he cared about her, how serious he was about her. Show her what he couldn't tell her outright, that he would do anything for her. He cleared his throat a little. "I hope so. She's… been through a lot lately."

Jim's expression clouded over. "I wanted to ask about that. How is she doing, coping with losing so much of her things and, well, everything else? I've spoken with Katie about it, obviously, but I know… I know she doesn't like to worry me so she assures me she's fine. You, well, you see her every day, Rick. How is she holding up?"

Castle hesitated, torn between wanting to follow Kate's undoubted wishes and not worry her father but also having to acknowledge the validity of Jim's concern. Castle was a father too. His paternal sympathies won out. "Sometimes, it's hard to tell," he finally answered slowly. "She… doesn't flinch."

Jim nodded. "I know. She wouldn't have a nightlight when she was a little girl. Not that she wasn't, you know, afraid of the dark. I think it was just a point of pride for her to… stare it down."

Castle had to smile. "That sounds like her." It did. Beckett didn't show vulnerability. It was a little surprising and endearing and somehow not surprising at all that Kate had always had that reluctance to show any fear, that her shield to hide any weaknesses hadn't developed only as a result of her mother's death. A line from Dickens he'd read once ran through his mind: _the strongest steel must go through the hottest fire_. Beckett had always been strong, he didn't doubt that, but she'd become even stronger, had made herself become stronger after facing things that would have destroyed many people, had used the pain of her mother's loss to make herself the best detective in the city, turning a weakness into a strength. It was her way. God, she was amazing.

He blinked and met Jim's eyes. "I think… it was a little hard for her," he continued, carefully, remembering the way she had cried on watching _Temptation Lane_. It didn't take much to realize that the mere fact that Beckett had let any tears escape her at all was a testament to how much she'd been affected by the loss of almost everything she owned. "But she's… better now, more like her usual self, I think. She seems, well, more comfortable now." She seemed… happier… staying in the loft now. It made him hopeful but he didn't want to say it aloud, a little afraid of jinxing it, as if just hinting that Kate Beckett might actually be happy living with him in his home would break whatever magic spell was behind what was almost certainly a minor miracle. He thought about the ease and frequency of Beckett's smiles now, the real ones that showed her teeth and lit up her eyes, the way she laughed when she was with him and Alexis—yeah, he could definitely consider that a minor miracle.

Jim visibly relaxed a little. "I thought so when I last saw her. She really did seem fine. I just… wondered. I know my daughter but Katie can be pretty good about hiding her emotions when she wants to."

"She does have a very good poker face," Castle acknowledged. "But I see the way she is with my daughter and I don't think even Kate would be quite that good at pretending to be fine around my daughter all the time if she weren't." Also, he trusted Alexis's instincts and her kind heart; she had always been good at knowing when something was bothering him and while he knew part of that was because of Alexis's love for him and how well she knew him, he didn't think it was only that. No, he trusted that if Kate was seriously troubled by her situation, Alexis would sense it and would have mentioned it to him.

"Yes, Katie's mentioned that you have a daughter, Alexis, I think her name is?"

Castle smiled, his heart warming as always at the bare mention of Alexis's name. "Alexis, yes. She's 15."

Jim gave a small understanding grimace. "Oh, I remember that age. One father to another, Rick, you have my sympathies."

Castle laughed a little. "I sometimes think Alexis is 15 going on 30 so I really don't have anything to complain about."

Jim smiled. "Katie does say that Alexis is very mature and very smart. Your daughter appears to have impressed mine."

Castle was torn between puffing up with pride over Alexis and swooning a little over the very fact that Kate apparently talked about Alexis with her _father_ with such praise. "What was Kate like as a teenager?" he blurted out, not able to hold the words back, as it suddenly hit him with new force that Jim Beckett was the world's leading expert on Kate Beckett stories. Oh, added bonus! It hadn't occurred to him when he'd thought of calling Jim to get a picture of Beckett's parents but he suddenly realized it was true.

Jim laughed. "Oh, she gave me and her mother some hard times, I can tell you."

Castle sat up. "I would love to hear some stories about young Kate." Somewhere in his mind, the Kate that had taken up residence there rolled her eyes. _You are not using my father as a source for Nikki Heat research, Castle. _

Jim smiled. "I should warn you that if you let me start telling stories about Katie growing up, I may never stop."

Castle grinned. "I've got time." Heck yes, he had time. Listening to Jim Beckett telling stories about Kate's childhood—he would make time for that. Would cancel plans with the President, the Pope, and every cast member from _Star Trek_ and _Star Wars_ in favor of listening to stories about Kate.

Jim chuckled a little. "That's kind of you but I think I'll pass. Katie will find out about this meeting of ours sooner or later and, well, let me just say that I prefer not to have my daughter angry at me."

Castle nodded. "Yes, I can understand that. Some other time, maybe." Also, it was entirely possible that Beckett would twist off his ears if she later found out that her father had told stories about her because he'd asked to be told.

The server arrived at that moment with their food, interrupting them.

"So, Rick," Jim began after a moment, "Katie told me that you're personal friends with Joe Torre."

Castle had to grin, barely able to keep from laughing at the memory of the normally calm, unflappable Detective Beckett so flustered and a little incoherent on being introduced to Joe. It had been adorable. "Oh yes, she did say that she needed to call you and mention that she'd just met Joe."

Jim smiled. "Yes, Katie was, ah, a little excited over meeting him. How did you come to know Joe Torre of all people?"

"Oh, well, after he led the Yankees to winning the World Series in 1998, '99, and 2000, you may know that the then-Mayor hosted a rather lavish party every one of those years to celebrate those teams. I was invited and so I got to meet Joe at those parties. He and my mother became rather friendly because they were fairly close in age and it had to be admitted that most of the guests at those parties were young, around the same age as the players, and so those guests of an older generation, including Joe and my mother, tended to congregate together at those parties. If it had only been those parties, though, Joe would probably barely remember me but it turned out that some of his friends and relatives were fans of my books so he asked me for some signed books and I invited him and his guests to a couple of my next book release parties so we got to know each other better. He's a good man."

"He is certainly a great baseball man and a respected one," Jim agreed. "I could hardly believe it when Katie told me that she'd actually been introduced to him and that you apparently knew him so well." He smiled slightly. "I guess this is how the other half lives."

Castle gave a brief chuckle of acknowledgment but quickly demurred, "While there are aspects of my life that sound glamorous and even are to an extent, most of it is for publicity purposes. My publisher and my agent like me to attend a certain number of high profile events to keep my name in the paper, so to speak, but really, I prefer to spend most of my evenings at home with my family rather than out on the town." He didn't want Jim Beckett to believe his Page Six reputation. As it was, he had probably never regretted his rather checkered past more than he did now when he suspected that his reputation was keeping Kate from believing that he might actually want a real relationship with anyone, let alone a real relationship with her.

"You don't need to convince me of that, Rick. After everything you've done for Katie, I can only be thankful that Katie has you for a friend."

"I'm the one who's lucky to have Kate as a friend," Castle said quietly, aware that he was falling into a cliché but it was true. He added with a smile, trying to lighten the mood a little, "If nothing else, meeting Kate has been an immeasurable good for my career."

Jim smiled. "I believe I heard that your book is being adapted into a movie?"

"Yes, it is," Castle confirmed.

"Congratulations."

"Thank you. It's exciting for me, as you might imagine. None of my books have ever before been chosen to be adapted for the screen so this is a first for me."

"I must say, I've always wondered about how collaborative the process is between a book's author and the people who adapt a book for a different medium." Jim gave a small self-deprecating laugh. "Also, I am a lawyer so the intricacies of the legal aspects of that sort of project, gaining the copyrights and all that, are of interest to me."

Castle had to admit he had left the legal side of the deal to his lawyer and Black Pawn's lawyers to sort out with the movie people but he tried to sound intelligent and knowledgeable as he answered Jim's questions to the best of his ability. It was a little too early in the process for him to truly know how a lot of it would work as it was.

After that, conversation over lunch remained general. Castle spoke a little about his writing and his experiences in the publishing industry, briefly mentioning what he almost never spoke about to anyone, the early years of his career before he'd been able to afford his own lawyers and had needed to negotiate his contracts with Black Pawn on his own.

He almost never talked about that time, the few days he'd spent holed up in the New York Public Library giving himself a crash course on contract law and copyright law and publishing contracts, specifically. He'd only quickly read through his first contract for _In a Hail of Bullets_, just enough for him to realize that legal-ese, while it was ostensibly English, was a foreign language. At the time, he'd been too caught up in the excitement of getting his book accepted by an actual publisher to care but later on, for his next book, it had occurred to him that he really needed to study up on contracts to protect himself. He thanked his lucky stars every day that Black Pawn was honest—the publishing industry, like any other industry, had its sharks and he would have made prime bait when he was just starting out. It was one reason why he had stayed with Black Pawn all this time, even after he'd made his name and could have gone to any other publishing company, including some who would have offered him considerably more than Black Pawn did and could. But he'd learned enough to know that Black Pawn had always dealt with him honestly and fairly even when he wouldn't have had the knowledge or the resources to protect himself if they had chosen to cheat him and for that, if nothing else, he owed Black Pawn his loyalty. He almost never alluded to those early years, the real, hard work and studying he had put in to teach himself what he needed to know when he was the one negotiating his own contracts. In all honesty, he himself tried not to think about that time, preferred to act as if he had always been Richard Castle, the Success with a capital 'S' who'd never known anything other than a perfect life of luxury, the life where he had the resources to have a small army of lawyers and agents and financial advisors to look after his own interests and do the work while he himself focused only on writing and on his family and on enjoying himself. But Castle knew Beckett well enough to know that she, and by extension, her father, would be more impressed by a man who knew the meaning of work, who hadn't always been the Success with a capital 'S' but had made himself into a success by dint of his own work. And Jim Beckett was a lawyer; Castle's own brief foray into law for his early contract negotiations gave them something of common ground and Castle wasn't above trying to utilize it to impress the father of the woman he loved.

In turn, Jim told a few anecdotes from his work and then Jim asked about Alexis and Castle happily talked about his daughter.

And Castle found himself relaxing more than he would have thought possible. Jim Beckett was, Castle realized, a man he genuinely liked and whose company he thought he would enjoy, entirely aside from the fact that he was the father of the woman Castle loved. He was intelligent, knowledgeable, and well-read; his humor was somewhat understated but he showed flashes of some of the sometimes-acerbic and always clever wit that Castle associated with Kate. It was a rather odd realization to come to, that he could imagine being friends with this man in a way that really had nothing to do with Kate at all.

And he wondered for possibly the millionth time what Kate would think of him meeting with her father.

All in all, lunch was very pleasant. Castle had, quite deliberately, already arranged to pay for lunch even before Jim had arrived so no check was ever presented and Jim could only make a rather token protest in the face of a _fait accompli_.

Jim thanked Castle for lunch with entirely more gratitude than was necessary, as Castle assured him, before shaking Jim's hand a final time.

Jim smiled a little. "I imagine I'll be hearing from my daughter about her surprise once you give it to her so I'll look forward to that."

"Thank you again for giving me the photograph."

Jim raised a hand, shaking his head. "Please don't thank me, Rick. You're planning a special surprise for my daughter; I should be the one thanking you."

"Maybe we should just agree that when it comes to Kate, we have a common interest," Castle suggested before this could turn into another round of thanks and demurrals.

Jim smiled. "Yes, I think we can definitely agree on that. I imagine I'll be seeing more of you, Rick. Take care of yourself."

"You too, Jim. Good bye."

Castle watched Jim Beckett walk away. Yes, he had liked the man in his own right, would absolutely not mind seeing Jim again, more often.

And he thought, he hoped, that aside from some of the initial awkwardness, Jim approved of him, although that might be more out of gratitude for helping Kate than anything else. Well, he could work with gratitude.

Castle mentally shook himself out of his reverie and started walking in the direction of the loft. He had a long drive to make before he could even think about returning to the precinct—and to Beckett.

_~To be continued…~_

* * *

* From the poem "He Wishes For the Cloths of Heaven" by William Butler Yeats.

A/N 2: For those who care (which is probably no one, but I obsess about details like this), I have decided that Alexis is only 15, no matter what canon says, because she starts college in S5 which would make her 18 then unless, for some reason, she was held back a year which makes no sense from what we know of Alexis. I have mentally determined that Alexis has an October birthday, like Molly Quinn, which means she would turn 18 in the fall of S5.

As always, thank you for reading and reviewing!


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: Thank you, as always, for reading! I can't believe this fic is nearly at 150 reviews.

The first of two chapters based on 2x21 "Den of Thieves," so expect some familiar dialogue ahead.

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 11_

Castle was happy.

Happy and so hopeful his heart practically danced a jig in his chest every time he looked at Beckett.

It wasn't that anything had outwardly changed in six days since he had given Beckett the jewelry box but he hadn't spent so much time with her over the last year not to have learned to read her pretty well. At this point, with the exception of Jim Beckett, he was probably the world's leading expert on Kate Beckett's expressions and moods. He thought. He hoped. (He didn't pretend to be able to read her thoughts but then again any man who claimed to be able to read a woman's thoughts on a regular basis was lying or deluding himself.)

And what he read in Kate lately gave him cause to hope. Hope that she was beginning to see him as more than just her annoying shadow at work and a friend. Hope that she might be willing to give him a chance.

She had smiled at him more and not just the small, closed-mouth smiles or the half-hidden, reluctant smiles when she really didn't want to smile but couldn't quite help it, but real, bright smiles.

She still teased him and laughed at him but he didn't mind that, would never want her to stop since her snark and wit were all part of what he loved about her. And even when she teased him, it seemed like his mind replayed the way she'd looked at him when she'd thanked him again for the jewelry box and the _Temptation Lane_ DVDs and told him that he'd been a good friend. _A really good friend_—from anyone else, it would have been a rather tepid acknowledgment but this was Beckett, Beckett who almost never spoke about her feelings, and coming from Beckett, combined with the look on her face, the words meant everything to him.

He caught her looking at him sometimes with an unreadable expression but as soon as she realized he'd caught her looking, she always averted her eyes, faint flags of tell-tale color appearing in her cheeks. Kate Beckett did not blush often and he couldn't help but hope that the fact that she'd started blushing more frequently around him meant something. Something very good.

It was distracting.

And at this particular moment, he did not appreciate it. He and Beckett were showing Alexis, who was the world's most adorable card player in her little vest and green visor with a red ribbon around her neck, how to play No Limit Texas Hold 'Em, and he was losing. Losing not only to Beckett, which he could (sort of, maybe, reluctantly) accept since she was a rather frighteningly good poker player, but also to Alexis—who barely knew how to play the game! (It suddenly occurred to him that if things with Beckett went as he hoped, he could probably give up on ever winning anything in his home again if he was going to be playing against Beckett and Alexis—he lost more often than he would really like against Alexis as it was.)

He frowned and sat back as Beckett and Alexis exchanged high-fives and triumphant grins. (Yeah, he was never winning at anything ever again when even in poker, when it was supposed to be every man for himself, his daughter and his… Beckett were ganging up against him.) But he looked at Beckett's bright smile, the green sparks dancing in her eyes, and decided that he didn't care. (Much.)

Beckett threw him a look of mock commiseration. "It's just not your night, is it, Castle? Want to give up, call it a night?"

"No!" Alexis immediately interjected. "Let's keep playing." She gave him one of her pleading looks. "Come on, Dad, I don't think I have the hang of it yet."

He opened his mouth to respond but before he could, his mother breezed in. "Hello, darlings. Oh, what's this?"

"Dad and Kate are teaching me the basics of No Limit Texas Hold 'Em," Alexis volunteered.

His mother stopped. "I'm shocked," she declared.

He rolled his eyes a little. Oh, he knew what was coming.

Sure enough, his mother finished, "Shocked to find there's gambling going on in here. Deal me in."

He smirked, his eyes meeting Beckett's, and saw that she was fighting back laughter too. He felt an undeniable sense of connection, one of shared affection over his mother's dramatics and her quoting _Casablanca_, and couldn't help but think that Beckett already was part of the family, whether she knew it or wanted to admit it or not.

The moment was broken as Beckett's phone rang and she stood up, leaving the table to answer it. "Beckett."

He was already sliding out of his own chair and ushering his mother into it. "Sorry, we'll have to leave you two ladies to your gambling."

His mother only waved a distracted hand, already turning her attention to the cards.

He dropped a quick kiss on Alexis's hair, pausing to whisper in her ear, "Don't let her win."

Alexis laughed and his mother shot him a look. "I heard that, Richard."

Beckett ended the call and turned to him. "Castle, we've got a body in a parking garage. Sounds like a pretty bad one," she added. Her eyes flickered over his visor, red ribbon around his collar, and his vest, her lips curving slightly. "You might want to change, Maverick."

He touched a finger to his visor in a mock salute. "As you wish, Detective."

Any urge to smile vanished the moment he and Beckett got to the crime scene and saw the victim, Paul Finch, who had been duct taped to the driver's seat of his car and then electrocuted.

He frowned. This wasn't just a murder; Paul Finch had been tortured.

He broke off in his speculations from observing the body and Beckett glanced up at him. "What?"

"His eyes are closed," he answered.

Lanie confirmed that the eyes had been closed before they got there.

And in one of those times where his and Beckett's mind worked in almost spooky tandem, they both blurted out, "That means he knew the victim."

He met her eyes, saw the faint quirk of her lips in acknowledgment, and felt a tendril of happiness wriggle through him as tended to happen at this proof of what a good team he and Beckett made. God, he loved the way their minds worked together.

But that little tendril of happiness shriveled up inside him the moment the Robbery detective showed up to brief them on the bank heist that Paul Finch had apparently pulled and he saw the appreciative once-over and equally-appreciative slow smile this new Detective, Detective Tom Demming, gave Beckett.

Castle stiffened a little and then felt his heart turn to stone and plummet into his stomach as he saw the way Beckett returned this Demming's smile and—worst of all—the way she briefly dipped her head. Because he knew Beckett and that self-conscious head-duck was a tell, a sign of being flustered, a little off-balance. And Detective Kate Beckett didn't, ever, become flustered when talking to another cop, not unless she… wasn't reacting to the cop as another cop but as a man. She found Demming attractive.

She listened intently as Demming explained about the heist and he could see that she wasn't as single-mindedly focused on the case as she usually was. She was smiling as she questioned Demming—smiling while talking about a case! He glanced around to see that Espo's and Ryan's eyes were narrowed a little as they observed the interplay between Beckett and Demming. It wasn't just him; the boys clearly saw it too.

And then Demming said, "I like the weird ones."

Esposito—that… _fink_—commented with just a little too much meaning in his tone, "Huh, how about that. Beckett likes the weird ones too."

Beckett rolled her eyes a little. "It's not just me. Castle likes the weird ones too."

And he felt his heart stutter back into life as she said his name, catching her quickly withdrawn glance. So she hadn't entirely forgotten he was there.

Espo shrugged. "Yeah but Castle's just a writer; of course he likes the weird ones. He can use them for his books."

Castle bristled and shot a glare at Espo, abruptly deciding that fink was too good a word for Esposito. Espo was… a quisling traducer, a… a subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man*, his literary mind running away with him. He was never lending Espo the Ferrari again. _Just_ a writer? And to say that in front of Demming, Mr. Super-Cop Robbery Detective with his insinuating little smiles and his clear appreciation of Beckett.

Castle spoke up, wanting to distract Demming's attention away from Beckett, wondering aloud what was in the box to make it worth the trouble of robbing it but leaving stacks of cash behind. See, he could think like a detective too. And then he slipped into his usual self, speculating that it might be Nazi gold. _Stupid, Rick! _

But he saw the faint curve of Beckett's lips and felt somewhat comforted. She was still smiling over his theories.

But then he was relegated to watching as Beckett and Detective Super-Cop interviewed Fred Cana and he almost stomped out after a few minutes of it.

Only to (almost) forgot his displeasure over Demming as all hell broke loose when Espo heard that Beckett was talking to Fred Cana and the story of Espo's old partner came out.

Yeah, this day was not getting any better. And sure enough, it didn't.

They went to talk to Victor Racine and Beckett and Demming were the ones who caught on to what Racine had revealed—he mentally kicked himself. He should have caught on. _Rookie mistake, Rick._

Then—thankfully—Lanie called and Demming said he would head back to look over Finch's financials so they would be going their separate ways.

Castle tried not to glare at Demming's back as he walked away but then he turned back to look at Beckett and felt his heart shrivel up inside him because she was watching Demming too and there was the faintest suggestion of a smile curving her lips.

And in that one look, it seemed to him that he saw every last one of his hopes dying.

Immediately, his damnable writer's imagination could picture the way things would play out. Because Demming was clearly interested in Beckett and he could see that Beckett thought Demming was attractive. Demming was a good cop too, clever, Castle could already tell, in that way that Beckett respected in other cops. Oh, he could see how this would go. Could already picture watching Beckett and Demming smile and laugh and flirt with each other, could picture Beckett ducking her head and twirling her hair as she smiled over something Demming said, could picture Beckett and Demming kissing…

Castle almost physically recoiled from the mental image.

Sure, he and Beckett were friends now and he knew Beckett was attracted to him too—but that wasn't particularly new. There had always been chemistry between him and Beckett. He thought that he and Beckett had gotten closer in these past few weeks since she'd been staying at the loft but what if it was only the added closeness of friends who'd been spending more time together out of necessity? It wasn't as if Beckett had a choice about staying at the loft.

He had hopes but nothing more than hopes. And maybe after all, it was a case of him inventing what he saw, his foolish optimistic heart building up on every little thing and creating a fantasy of dreams coming true.

He'd never really seen Beckett so obviously attracted to any other man, he realized, with the possible exception of her ex, Will Sorenson, but he had figured there was too much painful history between them and Beckett was too cautious to allow someone who had already hurt her once to get close enough to hurt her again. Now, though, he could see that Beckett found Demming attractive.

And it bothered him. A lot.

He'd been building so much of his hopes on Beckett being attracted to him but that was a physical thing. He of all people knew how little physical attraction could mean.

She had told him that he was a good friend—but she could have meant exactly that and nothing more.

His heart suddenly felt as if it had been turned into a cold, heavy weight in his stomach. Just friends with Kate Beckett—it was a lot, meant a lot, really it did—but he knew it would never be enough for him, not when he loved her the way he did.

* * *

Castle was unusually silent, subdued even, on the way to the morgue. He didn't talk, didn't fiddle with the radio, or anything.

And while Kate often found herself wishing at other times that Castle would sit in silence and would stop playing with the radio, now that it had happened, she realized she didn't like it.

It wasn't normal. And it wasn't even the sort of quiet he occasionally fell into when he was writing something out in his head; she recognized the quality of his silence when he was mentally writing and this wasn't that. This sort of quiet was the way Castle sometimes got when he was bothered by something. And it made her feel oddly unbalanced, as if the ground wasn't entirely solid beneath her feet.

Kate wasn't, unlike Castle, generally a fidgety or restless person but having Castle be so quiet and subdued was making her nervous until she could entirely understand the wish to fidget.

Damn the man, anyway! Ugh, she sometimes thought she could hate him for the way he'd gotten under her skin so much, that his behaviors and moods could affect her so strongly. She didn't like it. She didn't like this sense that if something was bothering Castle, it also bothered her.

And she really, really didn't like the feeling that she might… somehow, irrationally… find Castle's usual good humor and cheer to be… comforting. Didn't like the thought that she might have come to rely on Castle being Castle to make her feel… steady.

It should have been the craziest idea in the world, that she might find Castle, with his tendency to childish excitement, to be in any way a stabilizing part of her life but she had the unsettling and disturbing thought that it might actually be true.

Kate gave an internal growl of frustration and annoyance. She was strong, independent Kate Beckett. She didn't rely on other people like this! She was her own solid ground, damn it!

Fortunately for her, or something, Castle seemed to perk up when they got to the morgue, distracted from the moment he saw the machine and the process to fume Paul Finch's body for fingerprints.

"That is so cool!" Castle enthused. "Do you mind if I take pictures?" he asked eagerly.

Kate suppressed her smile, feeling the lingering tension inside her from the unusually quiet drive unwind inside her. This was the Castle she knew so well. And somehow, crazily, she was conscious that Castle being Castle again made her feel… as if the world was once more in its usual position. (Bother. No, no, it did _not_ do that. She was imagining things. Or something.)

"Knock yourself out," Lanie agreed. "But if any of those pictures end up on the Internet, I will hunt you down and hurt you."

He scoffed and made a face that said, _would I do such a thing?_, and vanished into the next room.

Kate caught Lanie's glance and so she wasn't surprised when Lanie began, in a leading tone, "So, what's with the handsome Robbery detective?"

Kate blinked. Lanie wanted to know about Demming? She'd been expecting to be grilled over Castle. "Demming? Oh, we're just working the case together, that's all." He was hot, though, Kate had to admit. Easy on the eyes and good at his job, it was hard not to like him.

In the next room, Castle was bending over to peer closer at the full-body fingerprinting machine and Kate forgot all about Demming as she felt a sizzle of heat go through her, her mouth suddenly going dry, because the way Castle filled out his nicely fitted jeans…

"That man has a damn fine ass, I have to say," Lanie commented.

Kate felt her face flame and she gaped at Lanie. "Lanie!"

Lanie smirked. "What, don't look at me like that, Kate Beckett. I've got eyes, that's all."

"That's not—it's not—" Kate stuttered and then finally settled for muttering, lamely, "You shouldn't say things like that when he might hear you."

"He's so fascinated by the idea of pulling fingerprints off a dead body, I don't think he'd hear me if I shouted it at the top of my lungs," Lanie said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Anyway, that's not the point," she changed the subject. "What's going on between you and Castle?"

"Nothing," Kate said quickly. Too quickly. "There is nothing going on."

Lanie arched her eyebrows in a supremely skeptical look. "Uh huh," she said disbelievingly. "You know, there's a pool going around about when and whether you and Castle will actually do the deed. Since you moved in with him, people have been trying to call it and collect on the money, saying it must have happened by now."

Kate stiffened. God, she hated how nosy cops could be sometimes, hated the fish-bowl aspect of the precinct at times. Detectives got too used to prying, to finding out all sorts of personal information about the victims, and they tended to forget that the living had a right to keep their private lives private. And while she'd known about the pool—she wasn't blind or an idiot—she hadn't known that people had tried to collect on it already, as if something had already happened between her and Castle. She shut her eyes. Oh god, she'd thought that in the last couple weeks, she'd noticed some assessing looks, of people looking between her and Castle, but she'd told herself it was nothing and she was mostly imagining it. "They should mind their own business," she grumbled.

Lanie snorted. "You work in a building with cops, who are some of the nosiest people around. You didn't seriously expect them not to bet on you and Castle when a blind man could see the chemistry there."

"That's not the point. Whatever happens between me and Castle—and _nothing_ is happening, nothing _at all_—it's private." Kate paused and then narrowed her eyes at Lanie. "You didn't bet on this pool, did you?"

Lanie looked away and that was answer enough.

"Lanie!"

Lanie opted for insouciance, shrugging. "There's a dress I've had my eye on. I could use some extra cash. And I'm your friend, Beckett. I care about what happens in your life."

"You didn't… Lanie, tell me you seriously haven't been telling people at the precinct that Castle and I have…"

Lanie huffed. "No! You ought to know me better than that. Besides, I'm not that stupid or suicidal; I know you'd shoot me yourself if I'd lied just to win the pool. Anyway, people haven't been asking me; they've been asking Javi and Ryan since they work with you and Castle more."

Kate raised an eyebrow at Lanie, momentarily distracted. "_Javi_, huh?"

Lanie waved a hand. "That's not the point," she said crisply but Kate detected the faintest thread of… self-consciousness in Lanie's voice. Javi. Hmm… Well, Esposito was a good guy and Lanie could take care of herself.

"Wait, people have been asking Esposito and Ryan? What have they said?"

"Javi and Ryan are the only reasons people haven't succeeded in declaring the pool closed and collecting the winnings because they've been swearing up and down that they would know if anything had happened between you and Castle and they're positive that nothing has, even if you are staying with him."

Kate let a small smile escape her. Her boys. She should have known they would stick up for her. Wait.

"They're not in on this pool, are they?" She took it back. She was going to shoot them herself.

"No."

Kate relaxed.

"Javi flatly refused, saying it was your life, and Ryan started babbling about how you were like his sister and you'd shoot them if you ever found out."

Kate smirked. Yeah, that sounded like them. For all that they had teased her and Castle that morning after Castle had stayed over at her apartment when Dunn had been after her, she'd known they were only having their fun and they'd desisted once she'd shot them a hard look. They were her boys; they had her back.

Lanie wasn't done yet. "But seriously, Beckett, you're telling me that you've been living with that man for a month now and you still haven't jumped him?"

Kate sputtered, for a moment entirely unable to come up with a response. Words. She knew she'd been able to talk just seconds ago.

From through the glass, she heard the faint sound of his voice saying, "So cool…"

It drew her eyes back to him, to the way he was all but bouncing on his feet as he circled the machine, his face lit up with that boyish excitement that was so much a part of him and she felt her traitorous heart melt a little. And this was what scared her the most. Lust was one thing, she knew how to deal with that. It was this other thing, the way her heart softened and melted when she saw him so excited, the way she couldn't help thinking that he was so… cute when he was like this, the way she wanted to see his face light up like this more. She liked seeing him happy.

"I want to," she found herself blurting out and felt her face flush, her entire body flaring up in a hot wash of mingled desire and embarrassment at finally saying, out loud, that she wanted Castle. She'd never admitted as much aloud, had barely gotten to the point of acknowledging it openly to herself. "I want him," she admitted, again, her voice not much louder than a breath.

Lanie let out a small crow of triumph. "Well, damn, girl, I could have told you that a year ago. So why haven't you jumped him yet?"

"I… I just… it's not that simple, Lanie," Kate huffed.

"I don't see what's so complicated about it. You're single. He's single. You want him. He definitely wants you. And even better, you're living in his house where you have all the opportunity in the world to flatten him against a wall or just push him into his bedroom and go for it."

Kate blushed scarlet, a wildfire of need starting up in her body at the mental images that rushed into her brain at Lanie's words, of pinning Castle up against the kitchen island or his bookshelves or the door of his bedroom or just his actual bed and tearing off those damnable button-downs of his and… and…

_No no no, stop it, Kate! _

She _wasn't_ going to lose herself to fantasies with Lanie standing right there! And it wasn't that simple. She felt a wave of doubt and fear rise up, effectively dousing the lust.

"It… it's not that simple," she said again. "I… I don't just want to be one of his conquests, another notch on his bedpost."

Lanie sighed a little, sobering. "Kate, a 5-year-old could see that the man cares about you. I don't think there's any chance that he would ever think of you as being just another conquest."

"Maybe he does," she conceded. "But what if it's not enough?" She knew he cared about her but what if it was only as a friend? And even if it wasn't, Will had cared about her too, and it still hadn't stopped him from leaving her for bigger and better things when a new opportunity in Boston had come up. Castle might not have a job that would require him to move to an entirely different city but he was _Richard Castle_, rich and famous, a man who could have just about any woman he wanted. Why would he stick around and choose her, a plain cop with a defensive wall around her emotions, issues with trust, a painful past, and a job that kept her surrounded by death and darkness, when even Will, who was law enforcement himself and understood about the job and its attendant stresses, hadn't thought she was worth sticking around for? She didn't even know if Castle was really interested in a serious relationship at all, let alone one with her. And Kate was very sure that Castle was far more dangerous to her heart than Will had been, with Castle's way of weaseling past her defenses. She remembered how slow she'd been to trust Will, to let herself care about him, but Will had been… safe so she hadn't been actively fighting Will and her feelings for him every step of the way either. She _had_ been actively fighting against her (largely unwanted) feelings for Castle and he'd _still_ managed to worm his way into her life and—she was terribly afraid—into her heart so how much worse would it be if she stopped fighting him and gave in to what she felt and then he left?

Kate sighed and looked at Lanie. "I just… I think I like him too much," she admitted, barely able to get the words out, and even so, they came out as little more than a breath.

Lanie reached out, her hand touching Kate's arm, but before she could say anything, they both looked up at the sound of tapping on the glass to see Castle holding up his phone with a picture of a clear impression of a fingerprint on Paul Finch's eyelids. "Hey, guys, we've got something."

Lanie shot Kate a look that promised they weren't done with this and Kate nodded before they both went into the next room to join Castle, slipping back into professional mode of being a detective and a M.E. and not two friends talking.

Lanie ran the print through the system and then frowned at the result. "Huh, that's strange."

Kate stared at the result that popped up on the screen. "Isaac 'Ike' Thornton," she read aloud, her voice sounding a little hollow with shock. "Esposito's old partner…" And she and Castle finished the thought together. "He's alive."

Kate straightened up and met Castle's eyes, seeing his now-completely-sober expression, and knew that he was thinking the same thing he was. This case was about to get even more personal for Espo than it already was and harder for him to deal with.

And she was the one who needed to tell him. Kate felt her gut tighten inside her. Oh god, there was no way this conversation was going to go well.

She stiffened her spine. She was Detective Kate Beckett; she didn't back down from anything.

Castle was still silent on the way back to the precinct from the morgue but this time, she knew exactly why, and then he finally asked, "What are you going to tell Esposito?"

She shot him a look. "Everything we know." Which wasn't much, Kate thought.

"Which isn't much," he muttered, echoing her thoughts so perfectly that she glanced at him again in some surprise. He paused. "He's not going to take this well."

"Thank you for stating the obvious, Castle," she clipped out and then inwardly pulled herself up short. "Sorry," she added briefly. She shouldn't take it out on him just because she was worrying over how to tell Esposito that his old partner was not just alive but had killed their victim and was clearly mixed up in criminal activity.

He lifted his shoulders in a little shrug and she knew she was forgiven—more, she knew that he wouldn't have taken offense at all. And in spite of her tension and worry over this case and how it was going to affect Esposito, she felt a little tendril of warmth sprout up inside her as she studied him from out of the corner of her eye as she drove. She didn't know how or why he put up with her moods the way he did, when she knew she got tunnel-vision when she lost herself in a case and was often irritable and snappish in those times when anyone, usually him, tried to distract her or make her take a break, but he did. He was good to her. More than that, she suddenly thought, he was good _for_ her. And really, how messed up was she that the thought was so terrifying?

She pushed it out of her mind. She didn't have time for this, to dwell on Castle and all the messy emotions surrounding the thought of him. She had a job to do so she would do it.

* * *

Castle had to fight the urge to frown or growl or something as Detective Super-Cop returned when they had mostly not seen him all day as they spent the day dealing with the fall-out from discovering that Ike Thornton had faked his own death—and they'd been doing just _fine_ without Super-Cop. But now he was back and asking Beckett if she wanted to join him to go over the bank surveillance videos with him the next morning.

"Yeah, sure, I'd love to," Beckett agreed. She was just being a good cop, he told himself, dedicated as she always was, but his gut twisted inside him anyway. Did she have to agree so readily and so… smilingly? He didn't like it when she smiled at other men—and he really needed to stop feeling possessive over Beckett's smiles, no matter what happened, because if he ever let that slip to her, she would probably shoot him. Kate Beckett wasn't the type of woman to appreciate that sort of caveman attitude—and she _wasn't_ his. (Damn it.)

Demming smiled that too-pretty smile of his. "Great. I'll see you then."

"Okay, great. I'll see you. Good night." She glanced briefly at Castle and he understood that she was going to stop off at the restroom before gathering up her stuff and felt something pinch his heart. In these past few weeks, arriving at the precinct together and leaving the precinct together, he and Beckett had formed a routine. And he loved it and never wanted it to change.

Castle made to stand up since he had less than no interest in remaining in the same room with Demming but Demming leaned forward, his voice dropping confidentially. "Hey, Castle, can I ask you something? You and Beckett. Is there something going on?"

Castle froze. Damn it. He'd known this moment was likely to come from the moment he'd seen the way Demming looked at Beckett.

And what did it mean that Demming thought to ask—what had he seen or noticed to make him ask the question? Whatever the case, Demming had asked and now the ball was in his court.

Castle swallowed hard and managed to say, "Me and Beckett? No. Just friends." Because it was the truth. So far as it went. And really, what else was he supposed to say? _We're just friends but I'm in love with her and I have no idea what she feels about me but I kind of sort of have some hopes but no, we're still just friends, no matter how much I want to be more. _He inwardly snorted. Yeah, that wasn't going to happen. He wanted—oh, how he wanted—to outright lie and say that Beckett was his but he didn't doubt that Beckett would find out about it and having her shoot him would not be conducive to romance.

Demming smiled, clearly pleased with the answer, and then he left.

Leaving Castle to stare after him, thinking that he really, really hated tall, good-looking Robbery detectives.

He was jerked out of his unpleasant thoughts when he heard a footstep and looked up to see Beckett standing in the doorway, her jacket on and her car keys in her hand. "You ready, Castle?"

He jerked to his feet and followed her out of the precinct and tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that he was still the one going home with Kate Beckett, even if it was a temporary situation. Told himself that Beckett thought of him as a good friend—a really good friend—and that was enough. Sort of. Could be enough, for now, at least.

Great, and now he was lying to himself and not convincingly either.

Castle tried not to scowl. He was hating this case more and more by the minute.

_~To be continued…~_

_* Two Gentlemen of Verona_, Act IV, scene 2

* * *

_A/N 2: Apropos of nothing but can I just say, Castle looked very good in the visor and vest at the beginning of this ep. And more to the point, in my head, Kate definitely noticed and appreciated it too. So assume that happened, even though we weren't privy to her thoughts at the time. _

_Also, that pool going around about Castle and Beckett getting together—we so needed to hear more about that in canon, although, come to think of it, the end of S2 might have ended the pool altogether. _

_Thanks, again, for reading! I appreciate every single review and everyone who's favorited and followed this fic. _


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note: Wow, the last chapter got a lot of responses. People dislike Demming more than I expected since I, at least, rather liked him, at least more than all the other Not-Castles. That said, I hope this next chapter relieves your worries over Demming. And yes, Kate is attracted to Demming; no, it doesn't mean anything, any more than Castle's attraction to Serena Kaye, as an example, meant anything.

I ended up splitting this chapter into 2 parts because it was getting really long so there'll be 3 total chapters stemming from "Den of Thieves."

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 12_

A couple days later, when Victor Racine was finally arrested and locked up in a holding cell and Ike had been reunited with his wife and son, Kate smiled, feeling a rush of satisfaction settle inside her. As hard as her job often was, as dark and depressing as it could be, days like this made up for it. Not only knowing that a dangerous criminal was finally off the streets but knowing that a good man, a good cop, who had been through far too much in the last few years, could go home to his wife and his son, knowing that justice had been served. A real happy ending, when so often the endings of their cases were not happy, when even catching the killer destroyed a family. Yeah, today was a win for the good guys.

She glanced around, almost automatically, for Castle and saw him talking with Captain Montgomery, both of them looking pleased. Oh well, she could talk over the triumph with Castle later at the loft. And maybe Castle was, after all, offering his expert suggestions at how to make up a story to explain the events of the night before to the higher-ups in a way that wouldn't get Espo in trouble.

In the meantime, she had more than an hour of time to kill before meeting up with Lanie. Lanie had sent her a text message a little while ago, saying _Hear you guys closed this case. Meet me at the morgue when my shift ends tonight. You and me are finishing our talk over dinner._

She hadn't been surprised, had been expecting it. After how much she'd admitted to Lanie in the morgue before finding Ike's fingerprint on the body, it was really only a testament to how well Lanie knew her that Lanie hadn't tried to corner Kate into finishing the conversation earlier. But Lanie did know her and knew perfectly well that any personal conversation would have to wait until the case was over.

Kate made her way into the break room, thinking to grab a quick cup of coffee to get her through the paperwork. Coffee from Castle's cappuccino machine, of course, even if the dratted thing never seemed to work quite right for her. But then again, it might just be that she so rarely had to make her own coffee; Castle seemed to have developed a sixth sense for when she might want coffee and always brought her some, usually right at about the time she started thinking it might be time for more coffee. (She didn't know how he did that, how he almost always seemed to know when she wanted coffee.) To say nothing of the coffees he bought them every morning.

She suddenly remembered the morning going over the bank surveillance videos with Demming, how Demming had been waiting with two mugs of coffee only to have his eyes fall to the coffee she'd already been holding, her usual coffee from Castle. It had been a little awkward but he'd shrugged it off with a smile and she'd made a point of thanking him anyway because it was nice that he'd thought of it, even if the coffee had ended up going to waste.

"Hey."

She looked up as Demming entered the room. "Oh, hey. Thank you for all your help with this case."

Demming nodded and smiled as he came over, settling against the counter next to her. "No, thank you. We made a pretty good team," he added.

The familiar words sent a small jolt through her because that just didn't sound right. It wasn't the right voice saying the words. And how irrational and stupid was that? It wasn't like the sentence was that unique. _Damn it, Kate Beckett, get a grip._

"We finally got Racine behind bars, where he deserves to be," she said instead.

"Yeah, that's a big win," he acknowledged. "So, is it always this much fun up here?"

Kate couldn't help a brief laugh. "We have our moments."

He paused, his smile and his expression changing and Kate knew what he was about to say before he said it, "So, now that you know I'm not a dirty cop," he said, a small self-deprecating smile curving his lips, "I was thinking, do you want to grab a drink or something? Celebrate the win."

Standing there, looking up at him—he was tall—Kate felt the undeniable tug of attraction. Because he was hot and nice and a good cop and she could see herself liking him. _And he was safe_, her cautious self spoke up. Yes, Demming would be safe. She could already tell that about him; he reminded her of Will in that sense. Demming, like Will, was a good guy, a nice, solid, steady, dependable guy. Coaching underprivileged kids and all.

And yet… when she met his eyes, all she could think was that his eyes were the wrong shade of blue. (When had eye color become a matter of right and wrong? _You know when, Kate._)

Yes, Demming was safe. But he wasn't Castle.

And she was so doomed.

"Actually, I already have plans tonight," she said and watched the way his smile faded.

"Oh. A date?" he asked with an attempt at casualness that missed by a mile.

She settled for nodding. Okay, so it was a girls-night-out date with her best friend, but that still counted, right? Anyway, it would make it easier if Demming wasn't given any hint of encouragement. They did work in the same building after all.

And while she wasn't going to go out with him and knew how to turn men away, Demming was nice. He was a friend of Esposito's, another good cop. No need to make things awkward.

Besides, what else was she supposed to say, tell him the truth? She inwardly snorted. Even if she were the type to spill her emotions to someone she barely knew, which she most emphatically was not, how could she explain it? _I like someone else but I don't know how much he cares about me and I still haven't decided what I'm going to do about it, if I'm going to risk really going for it, but either way, I don't think I can date anyone else while I have feelings for another man._ Yeah, that was not going to happen.

"Okay, well, have a good time," Demming said, straightening up and taking a step back. "I guess I'll see you around, Detective."

"Have a good night, Detective."

He managed a faint smile and then he was gone.

Kate went back to her desk to see Castle sitting in his chair, playing with his phone. She resisted the sudden, insane urge to run her hands along his shoulders or maybe just touch his hair, see if it was as soft as it looked, and only settled in her own chair.

"Hey Castle, I have some paperwork to do and then I have dinner plans so you'll have to make your own way back to the loft."

"Oh, okay," he agreed, not betraying the slightest bit of surprise or any other emotion. "I'll just see you later then," he said standing up.

"Later," she echoed as she watched him walk away, clapping a hand on Espo's shoulder as he passed by the other man and nodding at Ryan.

She felt a small niggle of doubt creep through her.

Castle didn't know her dinner plans were with Lanie. Did he not care if she went out with someone?

She was being silly, over-reacting, she told herself sternly. He didn't need to monitor her life and to his credit, he didn't try. Anyway, it wasn't as if she were trying to make him jealous or anything. She was just telling him so he knew she wouldn't be driving them both back to the loft as she normally did. That was all.

She pushed aside any other thoughts as she focused on finishing the paperwork to finalize Racine's arrest and begin to get everything in order for his trial. The trail of evidence for how they'd gotten their hands on that book was going to need to be crystal clear and rock-solid, not give Racine's lawyers anything to hang their hats on when they inevitably tried to come up with reasons to suppress it at Racine's trial. Racine wasn't going to go free because of shoddy police work leading to such vital evidence being suppressed, not if she had anything to say about it.

Kate worked steadily until it was time to go meet Lanie at the morgue and felt herself relaxing. Even if she expected Lanie to grill her, it would be good to hang out with Lanie, have an evening of girl talk with her best friend. And Lanie was always good at helping Kate clear her thoughts with how direct she was.

Sure enough, Lanie barely waited until they were seated at a place not far from the morgue which they occasionally went to when they met up after work, that had the benefit of not generally being frequented by cops, before she fixed her eyes on Kate. "Okay, girlfriend, spill. I want to know everything about what's going on with you and Castle."

Kate made a face. "There's nothing going on, Lanie, I told you that."

The look Lanie gave her would have scared a corpse back to life and clearly said that Kate's rather lame attempt at evasion wasn't going to get her anywhere. "Try again, Beckett. You admitted out loud in so many words that you want to jump Castle—when, by the way, I thought I might have to threaten you with dismemberment before you'd ever admit it. So, I ask, again, what the heck has been stopping you?"

Kate rubbed a hand down her face. "It's complicated, Lanie."

Lanie scoffed. "No, you're making it complicated, Beckett, trust me. Now stop being so cryptic and explain yourself, Kate Beckett."

Kate hesitated, shut her eyes, opened them again, and then finally admitted, the words almost having to be forced from her, "I'm just… afraid, Lanie."

Lanie's expression immediately softened. "Afraid of what?"

"I'm afraid of… him."

Lanie frowned. "Kate, you don't seriously think Castle would ever hurt you."

"No, not like that," Kate had to assure her, torn between amusement and horror. "He would never, not physically, and anyway, I can take care of myself."

"I know you can. So why would you be afraid of him? Afraid that you'll find his childishness so annoying you'll end up shooting him one day?" she asked, a small smile playing around her mouth.

Kate had to laugh. "No, not even that. I wish I were still afraid of that! I'm afraid because… because I don't find his childishness and silliness annoying anymore, at least not really. I think it's… kind of cute," she admitted, a little abashed now.

"Oh, girl, you do have it bad, don't you?"

Kate huffed. "It's not like I planned on this, you know. I didn't want it! I still _don't_ want it, not really! I don't _want_ to… to like him… but I think… I think I do."

Lanie—absolutely unhelpful person that she was—laughed aloud. "You say that like it's such a terrible thing. He might be childish and lord knows, I don't think I'd be able to stand living with him, but he might be good for you, you know, Kate."

Kate sighed. He was good for her. It scared her how good he was for her because she didn't like thinking that she might need anyone. She didn't let herself rely on people; she'd learned a long time ago that she could never really rely on anyone but herself. "I'm not living with him, Lanie," she corrected, focusing on the technicality since it was the only part of what Lanie had said she was comfortable addressing. "Not really, not like that. This—staying at the loft—it's temporary, you _know_ that. It's just until I find a place of my own."

"A temporary thing," Lanie repeated, "that just happens to have been going on for a month now with no real end in sight."

Kate made a face. "It's not like I haven't been looking. I have been. But I don't have a lot of time to look and anyway, you know what apartments cost in the city. And it's not like I have a lot of extra money lying around after having to replace so much of my clothes and stuff and the insurance money is going to have to go mostly towards a security deposit and replacing furniture and other household things in my new apartment, whenever I find one. It certainly doesn't cover dry cleaning my clothes or buying new ones." Kate had some funds from her mom's life insurance policy that she already knew she would need to use to help her pay for her apartment since her NYPD salary would never stretch to cover rent on any halfway decent place in Manhattan, but she never liked using the money and could only justify it on rent because she knew her mom would have wanted her to live somewhere decent, somewhere safe.

"I know, Beckett. I'm just saying, you've been staying at the loft for a month now and the funny thing is that I haven't heard you complaining about how terrible it is or how annoying it is to spend so much time with Writer Boy."

"It's not terrible and he's been… surprisingly good about giving me space and when he's in his home, he's… different, less annoying and just… likable," she admitted. She almost wished it _had_ been uncomfortable staying at the loft, almost wished spending so much time with Castle had proven to be way too annoying because then she wouldn't have this problem. "And Alexis is great and Martha's a dear," she added, smiling in spite of herself at the mention of Alexis, whom she cared more about every day.

"So, I ask again, just what are you scared of? You admit you want Castle and a blind man could see that he wants you. Why aren't you just going for it?" Lanie smirked. "If nothing else, it would certainly make your stay at the loft a lot more fun 'cause I'm pretty sure that Castle would know what he's doing in the bedroom."

Kate blushed hotly. Yeah, she was sure of that too. When she and Castle slept together, it would be fantastic. (Wait. _When?_ When had she started thinking of her and Castle sleeping together as being a 'when' and not an 'if'? _Shit._ _If_ she and Castle slept together. It was an 'if'; there was no 'when' about it. Not at all.)

She dragged her mind away from the distracting mental images of her and Castle discovering just how good they could be together.

And she was thankful that the server arrived to take their order and bring them ice water, almost gulping down the cold water in an attempt to cool off. Damn Lanie and damn her own imagination anyway. Picturing Castle like that was _not _helping.

"It's complicated, Lanie," she said again, once their server had gone. "I don't want to have a fling with Castle, that's the point. He's… we're friends now and I don't want to risk losing what we have for a casual fling."

"Kate, I don't know what you're thinking but I'm pretty sure that whatever happens between you and Castle, it could never be described as a casual fling, not anymore. You've already admitted you care about him and I can tell you that he cares about you and judging from the way I've seen him look at you sometimes, I don't think 'casual' is anywhere close to where he's at."

Kate felt her heart flutter a little at Lanie's words—how had Castle looked at her? Could Lanie be right? Lanie might not be a detective but Kate knew that Lanie was observant and she knew men, had been in her fair share of relationships, casual and otherwise.

She knew Castle cared about her. But was it enough?

Kate sighed, dropping her head into her hands for a moment before looking back up at Lanie. "I just don't know, Lanie. Yes, he might care about me now but how long will it last? I'm no good at this stuff, Lanie, you know that."

"This stuff—you mean, relationships?"

"Yeah. And I'm just this cop and he's—I mean, god, Lanie, he's _Richard Castle_, my favorite author—and you are never _ever_ allowed to mention that to him," she added, pinning Lanie with a threatening look, waiting until Lanie's nod before she went on, "he's a multimillionaire celebrity who has gorgeous actresses like Ellie Monroe throwing themselves at him and I just… I don't know if he even wants a real relationship and even if he did, I don't see how we could ever last."

"You're right," Lanie agreed and Kate felt herself slump. See, even Lanie agreed.

But, of course, Lanie wasn't done. "But let me ask you, this multimillionaire celebrity author, is he or is he not also the same man who ran into a burning building because he knew you were inside it?"

Unbidden, Kate heard his frantic voice in her head as he warned her "the killer's still alive!" and then again as he _broke down_ her door. _Kate! Kate! Are you in there? Kate!_

She felt a rush of warmth inside her at the memory—odd, how the memory of the explosion had lost some of its sting when she focused instead on what Castle had done to save her.

"It's not the same, Lanie. He'd figured out that Dunn was going to come after me and he's not the type of man to just stand aside and let anyone get hurt if he could help it, let alone someone he knows. He protects people, that's who he is."

"Yes, he does, because he's a good guy for all his faults. But Kate, think about it, this multimillionaire celebrity author has been following you around into some pretty scary situations, chasing killers at all hours of the day and night, for more than a year now."

"It's research, Lanie, you know that. He needs to do research for authenticity," she added, hearing Castle's voice in her head as he told her that he couldn't write authentically about Nikki without following the inspiration for Nikki.

"Don't give me that 'it's research' line, Kate Beckett. It's been more than a year. If he hasn't done enough research into NYPD procedure and protocols to write 20 Nikki Heat books, then he just hasn't been paying attention or has no idea what he's doing and somehow I don't think either of those things is true."

"I don't… I don't know, Lanie."

"Think about it, Beckett, that's all I'm saying. If it was really only about research, I don't think he would keep coming back and spending every day in the precinct with you, running around to murder scenes in the middle of the night. Not even Castle is that morbid. And you said it yourself, he's a multimillionaire celebrity; most multimillionaires don't spend their days hanging around a bunch of cops looking at dead bodies, even if they are mystery writers. You don't hear about Patterson or Cannell shadowing cops or FBI agents, do you?"

"That… that doesn't mean it has anything to do with me. He was bored before and he likes playing detective," Kate protested but even she could tell that her protest sounded weak and unconvincing.

"Maybe so but that's not all he's done, is it? He's letting you stay in his home with him and his _daughter_ for weeks on end; I know for sure he's never said a word to you about how much longer you'll need to stay. You told me he offered to have his realtor help you find a new place and he's offered you your choice of any of his mother's old furniture in storage. He's been bringing you coffee just the way you like it every day for more than a year. Kate, if those are the actions of a man who wants a casual fling, then damn, I need to find me a man who wants a casual fling like that."

Kate had to laugh at Lanie's phrasing. Lanie was priceless. But then she sobered. "So he cares about me. I know he does, to an extent. I just… I don't know if I can risk starting something with him only to have it fall apart later because we're just too different. He's… risky and I don't do risky when it comes to my personal life."

Lanie reached out and put a hand on Kate's arm, all traces of humor gone from her dark eyes. "Oh, Kate, I don't know what to tell you except that sometimes you just have to take risks. And when it comes to relationships, it's always a risk because you never know in advance how things will go but that's just part of what makes it interesting."

"I… I can't, Lanie. I can't take risks like that, not… not anymore. I just… we're so different and he could have anyone he wanted. And I… I like having him around," Kate admitted, rather sheepishly. "I don't want to lose that if things don't work out."

To her credit, Lanie didn't smirk or make some comment since Lanie, after all, had been the audience for more than one of Kate's first annoyed rants about Castle after he'd first started shadowing her, about how he was such a jackass and so immature and irritating and childish and how much she hated having him around all the time.

God, how had she even come to this point, Kate wondered a little wildly, going from wanting to shoot Castle basically every time she saw him to this, admitting that she liked having him around and moreover didn't want to risk getting involved with him because she didn't want to risk losing his friendship. Ugh. Kate had never met anyone who could get under her skin the way Castle had, who could irritate her and make her want to laugh at the same time, who drove her crazy and yet still somehow managed to melt her heart and make her feel warm and… safe.

Damn the man, anyway! Kate had been doing just _fine_, thank you very much, comfortable in her own life, until he'd insinuated his way into her life and refused to leave, and made a mess of her organized, self-contained life and equally organized emotions.

"Okay, Kate, if that's really what you think. I know from experience that arguing with you is a pointless thing to do. But Kate, you might think that you'll be able to keep on living in the same apartment with Castle and keeping your feelings for him safely boxed up and protect yourself from being hurt but emotions don't usually work like that." Lanie paused and then winked, giving Kate a wicked grin. "Besides, I really think it would almost be a crime not to find out if that ass of his looks as good out of his pants as it does in them."

Kate choked. "Lanie!" But an errant voice in her mind couldn't help but think that Lanie was right about that part. (_Shut up. She wasn't going to think like that._)

Thankfully, their food arrived then and Kate decided it was more than time to turn the tables on Lanie, fixing Lanie with a direct look and raising her eyebrows challengingly. "Enough about me. I want to know about you and _Javi_. Something going on there?"

_~To be continued…~_

* * *

_A/N 2: A couple things—I'm confused over why anyone would read Castle/Beckett fanfiction if they don't actually support the Castle/Beckett relationship. _

_Leaving that aside, I know this is taking a while and may be getting frustrating but I'm trying to keep both Castle and Beckett in character and from what we saw on canon, they are more than capable of taking much, much longer than this to get their act together, even with the change in circumstances of Beckett's longer stay at the loft. Kate has her issues, stemming from her own insecurity and some lingering hang-ups over Castle's reputation. Plus I think Kate doesn't really trust people in general to stick around and be there for her, and at this point in canon and even in this fic, she still has some reason to doubt Castle. They've been working together for a little over a year at this point and in that time, Castle has betrayed Kate's trust (in prying into Kate's mom's case), then been on the verge of leaving the precinct (and her) at least twice: first, for James Bond and then again at the end of "Sucker Punch." For someone whose entire adult life appears to have followed a pattern of people she cared about essentially abandoning her (e.g. Jim for the first five years after Johanna's death; Royce who, as far as we know, was Kate's training officer, and then pretty much once Kate's training was done, left the NYPD and Kate without looking back; and Will Sorenson, who left for Boston), learning to trust Castle will stick around for the long haul takes time. That said, I promise Kate will get over her issues sooner rather than later and there will be a happy Caskett ending (that will, in all likelihood, end up almost sickeningly fluffy, knowing my tendencies)._

_Before my Author's Note gets to be longer than the actual chapter, I'll end with a quick question: do people prefer the super-long chapters (like Chapters 9 and 10) or would you rather chapters be split up into somewhat more manageable lengths since I understand people may not want to spend hours reading every update for this fic? _


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: The last of the chapters based on "Den of Thieves."

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 13_

Kate stepped into the loft, glancing around the empty living room, before heading to Castle's office to put away her gun.

Castle was sitting in his chair, frowning at his laptop screen although he wasn't typing.

"Hey Castle."

His head jerked as he started a little. "Oh, hey, Beckett, you're back. How was your dinner?" He sounded… distracted and was still frowning at his laptop screen.

"It was fine. Lanie says hello, by the way." Lanie's exact words had been, "Say hi to Writer Boy for me and tell him that I think he needs to man up and just kiss you senseless," but Kate wasn't going to tell Castle that last part. Ever.

That seemed to get his attention and he looked up at her, his frown clearing. "Your dinner was with Lanie?"

"Yeah, she insisted saying it's been weeks since we had a girls night out," Kate explained over her shoulder as she opened up his safe and deposited her gun inside it. "Where's Alexis?"

"In her room. She has an essay to write."

Kate nodded and settled in the other chair in his office. "And what about you? Nikki giving you trouble?"

"Huh? Oh, no, not really, no more than usual. I think I've just written as much as I can tonight." He paused, pushing his laptop away, before he turned back to face her. "So you had fun with Lanie?"

"Yeah." She leaned back in her chair and directed a smile at him. "It was a good day today, Castle."

"A good day for Ike and his family for sure," Castle agreed.

"A good day for all of us," Kate corrected. "Putting Racine behind bars is a big win for the NYPD and we closed two cases, one for Robbery and one for Homicide."

Castle's face darkened a little. "Demming certainly seemed to think it was a good day."

"He's a cop and he got to close his case and arrest Racine, of course he was happy."

"You really think that's the only reason he was so cheerful, Beckett?" Castle asked a little harshly. "You and I both know he had other reasons."

In spite of herself, Kate felt her heart flutter a little in her chest. He was… upset. Oh, he _was_ jealous over Demming. She'd never liked it when guys got jealous over her before but somehow, Kate found it didn't bother her right now. She was conscious of a trickle of pleasure at the thought that Castle really didn't like it if another guy flirted with her.

She could hardly believe that she was even thinking of telling him this since the Kate of even two months ago would have insisted it was none of Castle's business. But that Kate hadn't had her apartment explode around her, hadn't lost nearly everything she owned and found her neatly organized life blown to pieces so the only person she'd really been able to turn to for shelter was Castle. That Kate hadn't spent so much time with Castle outside of the precinct, hadn't seen the way he was with his mother and his daughter, hadn't realized just how good a friend he was. (And that Kate hadn't found herself distracted almost constantly because of how much she wanted Castle.)

The Kate she was now had been changed, affected more than even she'd realized, by her stay at the loft. In how she'd come to think about Castle. In how much she'd come to trust him without even realizing it, without really even wanting to. "He did ask me out," she admitted.

Castle jerked in his chair as if he'd been hit by a taser, his eyes flaring wide, his lips parting as he stared at her, clearly shocked that she'd even told him such a thing. Yeah, part of her was shocked too.

"I said no."

"You—uh—okay," he stuttered less than coherently.

She shrugged a little, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor. "I don't have an apartment or furniture and the clothes that survived the explosion still haven't all been cleaned yet. I really don't think I need to be adding another complication into my life by starting a new relationship." It was the truth, so far as it went, just not the whole truth.

"I… uh… didn't ask."

Now she looked up at him, giving him a small smile. "You were not asking very loudly."

The familiar words, the memory of them saying just that, only in reverse, seemed to echo in both their minds, Kate could see, as they exchanged looks and faint smiles.

They were both silent for a minute before he asked, "Esposito isn't going to get in trouble for what he did, is he? We both know Captain Montgomery didn't buy that story we told him for even a second."

Kate smiled slightly. "I'm pretty sure the Captain will figure out some way of explaining it to the higher-ups so Espo won't be implicated. As he put it, he didn't become Captain because he looks good behind a desk."

"Still, it was a pretty big risk Espo took."

"He knew what he was doing and I understand why he did it. It's a cop thing, Castle. They have their partner's back; cops know that their partners would take a bullet for them in a heartbeat and they would do the same for their partner."

Castle smiled. "Espo called me his other partner yesterday when he introduced me and Ryan to Ike."

"You shouldn't sound so surprised, Castle. You're my partner and I'm Esposito's partner so of course you're Espo's partner too. It's the transitive theory of partnership," she quipped.

His entire face lit up with delight. "You think of me as your partner?"

It was really unfair what his smile could do to her, how her entire chest seemed to fill with warmth on seeing the way his entire face reflected his happiness.

She was intending to tease him but seeing how… happy… he looked, she found she couldn't quite bring herself to do it. He'd spent enough time in the precinct to know the significance of the word, partner, to a cop, and after seeing that it meant so much to him that she thought of him as her partner—no, she couldn't tease him at that moment. "Yeah, Castle, you're my partner."

And she was more than rewarded for telling him that by the way his smile grew, spread to his eyes, the way he looked at her as if she'd just given him the world. (When had she started thinking of his smiles as being a reward?) And it was too much. The look in his eyes—he looked so… sincere, so serious—and she felt a sudden flutter of panic, felt exposed and open and vulnerable. And she quickly added, "At least when you're not annoying me too much."

Kate suddenly hated herself more than a little for her own cowardice when she saw the way the light in his eyes dimmed a little but he managed his usual teasing grin as he asked, "So I'm your partner maybe 50% of the time?"

Her response was automatic because this, their usual banter, she could do. This was easy, comfortable, safe. "You think you only annoy me half the time? Wow, that's a generous estimate."

He gave an exaggerated huff. "Just for that, I'm basing my next book on Esposito."

"You think a book on Roach will sell as well as a book about Nikki Heat?" She pretended to think about it. "I can see it. Just think of the titles. Roach Squad. Roach to the Rescue. Dead Roach Walking."

He sputtered a laugh. "That sounds like a horror film about an exterminator dealing with zombie cockroaches."

"You were the one who gave Ryan and Espo's characters their little collective nickname."

"Yeah, but I wasn't planning on naming the books after them."

She gave him a sideways teasing look. "Well, now you'll have to reconsider, right, in this new Roach spin-off series?"

He laughed. "I think Gina would kill me if I suggested a series of books with Roach in the title."

She heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Well, I would hate to have it on my conscience that Alexis will be left without a father so I guess I'll just have to keep letting you follow me around."

"Just remember, I keep you supplied with coffee."

She grinned at him. "Oh right. Knew there was a reason I kept you around."

He made a face at her but then he sobered and told her, quietly, his eyes not quite meeting hers, "I think of you as my partner too, Beckett."

She flushed and looked away, suddenly finding his bookshelves to be fascinating.

A silence fell for a long few minutes that wasn't quite as comfortable as silences usually were between them now but wasn't exactly uncomfortable either. It just felt… charged.

She finally glanced over at him to see that he was looking at the frames on his desk, his expression now a little wistful.

"What is it, Castle?" she asked quietly.

"Just thinking about Ike, what it must have been like for him to be separated from his wife and son for the last few years, missing out on seeing his son grow up. I just… can't imagine it. I hate even going one day without talking to Alexis."

She smiled a little to herself, marveling yet again at his father side. She hadn't often had a chance to see it when she'd mostly seen him in the precinct although even then, it had always been apparent that he had a close, loving relationship with his daughter, but staying at the loft, seeing him in his home, as a father all the time, it was unmistakable. And it may have been the side of him she liked the most. To see the way he loved his daughter and his mother—it was hard not to care about such a man, who loved his family so openly and so deeply.

And she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to be loved like that.

Kate suddenly felt hot, realizing where her thoughts had wandered. And heard Lanie's voice in her head, _oh girl, you do have it bad._

"How long was the longest you've ever had to go without seeing Alexis?" she asked him, trying to distract herself.

"Oh… uh… my honeymoon with Gina," he answered a little uncomfortably.

"Oh," she said lamely, mentally kicking herself. She was just stepping on conversational mines no matter what, it seemed.

"Alexis was 10 and I left her with my mother while Gina and I were travelling. We were gone more than two weeks. I made sure to call Alexis just before her bedtime every day, though. With the time difference in some of the places we were at, calling Alexis every evening was a little disruptive but I insisted since the longest I'd ever left Alexis alone before then was two or three days. To her credit, Gina didn't seem to mind." He stopped and then finally glanced up at her with a rather rueful smile, "I think I missed Alexis more than she missed me. After we got back, I ended up spending the night in Alexis's room watching her sleep for the first three nights because I couldn't bear to not see her for so many hours."

Kate had to smile. "I don't know how you ever managed to send Alexis to school."

He gave a self-deprecating little laugh. "You didn't see me the first week after Alexis started pre-school."

"You said you hid outside in the bushes all day on her first day."

He laughed. "Yeah. That was the first day. The second day I managed to get about a block away before I almost had a panic attack and had to come back and spent the day attempting to write while sitting on the sidewalk right in front of the school. The third day, I'd learned my lesson."

"So you managed to leave?"

He scoffed. "No! I meant I'd learned my lesson in that I didn't even try to leave that third day, just went straight to my spot on the sidewalk and waited again."

She had to laugh. "You're a born stalker, you know that?"

He made a face at her. "It's called being a father, Beckett. Anyway, the fourth and fifth day, I finally succeeded in leaving and going home again but I spent the days moping and fretting like you wouldn't believe and I got to the school about an hour earlier than necessary in order to pick Alexis up."

"How was Alexis when she started school?"

"Oh, she cried that first day and a little bit on the second day but after that, once she figured out that I'd pick her up again once school was over, she was pretty much fine." He smiled and then sobered. "Yeah, I can't imagine what Ike's been through."

"At least, it's over now," she said. "Focus on that instead. Ike is at home tonight with his wife and son, his name cleared."

His so-blue eyes brightened. "Yeah, you're right. It was a good day." (Yes, Castle's eyes were the right shade of blue.)

She smiled. "It was one of those days that makes me feel good about the job."

He blinked and frowned at her. "You always do good, Beckett. You get justice for the victims."

"I know. The Captain says that in Homicide, our job is to speak for the dead. But sometimes, I feel like I spend my days breaking families apart," she admitted.

"Kate… you know that's not true."

Her eyes momentarily fluttered closed of their own volition at the sound of her first name. She thought a little fuzzily that she'd never known anyone who could express so much compassion, so much understanding in just one word. The way he said her name… felt like a warm hug.

She sighed, letting her head drop to look at her lap. "I suppose. Most of the times, you know, I like my job. I know it's important and I believe in what I'm doing. But sometimes, it bothers me." She paused. "Remember the Eliska Sokol case?"

"Of course. Last fall, found down a manhole after she spent years trying to find out the truth about her son."

She smiled faintly at this Castle-esque summary—the detail of the manhole that she knew he'd liked and then the ultimate story and the motive, one that he of all people would understand, driven by the love for one's child. "Cases that end like that bother me sometimes because the Talbot family was broken and I feel like I broke that family by arresting Dr. Talbot. You remember what Melissa Talbot said when she found out, the way she cried and asked what she was going to do. She's a single mother raising her boy alone now, knowing her husband committed a murder."

"You weren't the one that broke that family; Dr. Talbot was when he decided to kill Eliska. It's always on the killer. You can't—you shouldn't take that weight on yourself."

She managed a slightly wobbly smile. "I know, Castle. My head tells me that too but sometimes, it's hard to feel convinced about it. Days like today… they help. My job almost never involves reuniting a family but today, we got to fix a family that had been broken."

"Yeah," he agreed quietly. "A real happy ending. It's a rare thing in a murder mystery, I know. Usually, there's justice in the end but justice can be harsh, painful, and innocents are still hurt by it. There's a reason Lady Justice has a sword; swords are double-edged and they cut both ways."

She stared at him, surprised almost in spite of herself at his understanding. It still, even now, tended to surprise her when he was serious about anything but it threw her even more at times like this when he was more than just serious, he was thoughtful, insightful, even—dare she say it—wise. It was a side of him he didn't often show. He spent so much time being childish and silly and when they'd first met, she'd found herself occasionally wondering if a ghost-writer might have actually written his books since she didn't want to believe that her favorite author could be so annoying in real life. But then he would say something like this and she realized that, no, somehow, in spite of all his outward childishness and wiseass remarks, he was the same man whose books she liked so much. He might be irritating at times and occasionally immature and frequently silly but somehow he was the same man whose mind, whose way of thinking and expressing himself in his books, had appealed to her from the first book of his she'd read.

(And she had another of those occasional brief moments of incredulity that she was sitting in the study of her favorite author, talking to him like this. If anyone had told her this two years ago, she would have said it was a dream come true. A year ago, maybe even six months ago, she would have snorted and said it was proof that you should always be careful what you wished for.)

He blinked, his hands automatically going up to touch his face and his hair. "What, Beckett? You're staring at me like… I don't know, like you've never seen me before and I just shapeshifted into something else. I didn't, did I? Because if it turns out that I'm some kind of shapeshifter like Mystique in the X-Men and I didn't even know it, that would be so cool!"

She laughed out loud. Okay, this was definitely still Castle. "No, sorry, you still look like you. I was just… surprised at what you said. You spend so much time acting like a 12-year-old and then you can say something so… smart."

He affected an injured look. "You seem to keep forgetting that I'm a genius, Beckett."

She snorted. "No, what you are is very vain."

He pouted. "You're being mean again. I'm a writer; I'm good with words. Besides, writers spend a lot of their time staring at blank pages and thinking about random things and sometimes those random thoughts actually come together and form a coherent idea and sometimes those coherent ideas sound smart."

She smirked. "And other times, like now, you talk and it really is just a string of random words. You're really quite something, Writer-Boy, going from 60 to 0 in the space of a minute."

"One can't always be brilliant."

"No, I suppose _one_ can't," she responded, teasingly emphasizing the use of the generic pronoun. She pushed herself to her feet. "On that note, it's been a long day. I'm going to go upstairs and read for a while before going to sleep."

"Try some of Patterson or Lehane; they both can have soporific effects," he advised jokingly.

She threw him a teasing look. "I was planning on reading _A Skull in Springtime. _I hear that's practically as good as a sleeping pill. Who wrote that again? I forget."

He huffed, narrowing his eyes at her. "I'll forgive you for that nasty crack just because _A Skull in Springtime_ is one of my lesser works."

"I think it's the worst book you ever wrote," she agreed, making a mental note to never ever mention to him that she'd actually read _A Skull in Springtime_ twice.

"You ought to know since you've read all my books," he shot back, smirking.

Damn it. He was right about that.

"I might have read them; I didn't say I'd liked them," she immediately riposted. (A lie. But she wasn't about to tell him that.)

"Touché, Detective."

She grinned at him. "Night, Castle."

"Night, Beckett. Don't blame me if you start re-reading one of my books and end up staying up all night to finish it."

She laughed. "Not gonna happen, Castle, believe me."

With that last rejoinder, she left his office and went upstairs, a smile lingering on her lips.

Oh, that man! That clever, funny, childish, kind man. (And hot, don't forget hot, an errant voice in her mind inserted.) Ruggedly handsome, his voice in her head corrected.

She just _liked_ him, liked talking to him, enjoyed his company in a way she really couldn't remember ever feeling before for any other man. Even when she'd been with Will, she'd found she had a tendency to feel restless or suffocated if she spent too much uninterrupted time with him. They had had their separate apartments and even while they'd spent basically all the weekends together, she remembered how she'd almost welcomed the start of the work week, when she could return to the precinct while Will went to the FBI building. She'd always felt that way with her boyfriends before, with just about anyone before, so she'd accepted that it was simply the way she was, had never expected it to change.

And then she'd been forced to stay at the loft. She didn't know how or why—it made no sense, really—but somehow, even spending as much time with Castle as she did now, the entire day from pretty much the moment she came downstairs in the morning to the moment she went upstairs at night, she didn't really mind it. Not only because Alexis was almost always around in the evenings and Martha was around frequently too and not even because they didn't always talk much after dinner was over, when Kate would usually curl up with a book while Alexis retreated into her room to do homework and Castle went into his office to write (or play computer games, Kate suspected). But even so, she and Castle spent almost the entire day together and what really amazed Kate was that it somehow didn't feel like too much. She still found him irritating at times but she never felt suffocated around him either.

She heard Lanie's voice in her head again. _Oh, girl, you do have it bad, don't you?_

Kate dropped her head into her hands and groaned. Yeah, she really did. And she either needed to stop feeling this… whatever-she-was-feeling for Castle beyond friendship or go ahead and do something about it.

She knew that—she did—but it just wasn't that simple.

Castle's friendship—this partnership of theirs—was important to her. And she didn't want to risk losing it. Couldn't risk losing it.

This friendship—partnership _worked _for them. It was… safe… and comfortable… and comforting. And it was enough for her. Would have to be enough.

Really.

_~To be continued…~_

* * *

_A/N 2: Thank you, everyone, for the reviews and kind words to the last chapter. I am amazed that this fic has reached more than 200 reviews. _


	14. Chapter 14

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 14_

Kate smiled as she walked in to the diner where she and her dad usually met to see Jim Beckett already seated and waiting for her.

Her dad was always early whenever they met up. Her dad was probably the most punctual person she'd ever met. (Her mom had valued punctuality too but her mom had a tendency to lose track of time if she got sucked into work, rather like Kate did, and because of that, her mom ended up running late fairly often. It was why Kate and her dad hadn't thought anything of it when her mom hadn't met them for dinner that terrible January day, had been utterly unprepared for the devastating blow that was about to fall on them.)

The first indication Kate had really had that her dad's drinking was escalating and becoming problematic had been that he'd been late to meet her for dinner one day. She'd known her dad had been drinking occasionally but she had been preoccupied and still reeling herself from her mom's death so she hadn't thought, hadn't realized that her responsible, intelligent father was sinking so fast. But then he'd started showing up late to meet her. And then one day, he hadn't shown up at all and she'd gone to his apartment, the one he'd moved into within a year of her mom's death because staying in their old home had been too painful, to find him passed out drunk on his couch.

Kate shoved aside the unbidden memories. She tried not to think about that time. At all. Wanted to forget about those years entirely, truth be told. Wished she could erase seeing her dad like that, so broken.

She'd managed to rebuild her relationship with her dad, slowly, steadily, finding the bond she'd had with her dad again, but it had taken time and she knew that there were limits in how much she told her dad about her life, her job, about the dangers of it, because still, she was afraid that something would send her dad back to the bottle. There was still a shadow of constraint that occasionally appeared when she talked to her dad, although she tried to deny it, tried not to acknowledge that it existed.

She stepped straight into her dad's hug. "Hi, Dad."

Her dad gave her a brief squeeze, kissing her forehead. "Hi, Katie. You're looking well."

She slipped into the booth across from her dad. "Thanks." She paused and then fixed a half-teasing, half-challenging look on him, "So, Dad, you met Castle?"

Her dad looked entirely composed. "I see Rick gave you his surprise then?"

Rick? Kate's mind momentarily snagged on the name. Her dad was on first-name terms with Castle now, after meeting with him once? Her dad wasn't the most formal of men but he could be reserved and had rather perfected a subtly threatening demeanor for meeting her boyfriends before.

Wait, why was she assuming her dad would react to Castle as if he was her boyfriend? He wasn't. They were just friends and partners. Her dad had been perfectly congenial the couple times he'd met Esposito and Ryan. She ignored the little voice in her head saying that that was an entirely different situation.

"Yes, he gave me the surprise." Kate heard the way her own voice had softened on answering, betraying rather more than she wanted about the warmth in her chest at the thought of the jewelry box. She saw the way her dad smiled, his eyes narrowing a little, and knew he'd noted the change in tone too. Drat it.

In an attempt at regaining some more control, she asked, "You didn't mention anything about meeting Castle when we talked two weeks ago."

Jim Beckett only gave her a rather amused look. "He told me he was planning to surprise you, Katie. Of course I didn't mention anything to you. I take it you liked the surprise."

She smiled, wide and bright and happy. She couldn't help it. "Yeah, I liked it. The box is really beautifully made."

"Mm hmm. I must say, Katie, I can't think of many men who would have thought to do something like that."

She honestly couldn't either. "Castle has his moments," she agreed.

"I was glad to finally have a chance to meet your Castle."

Kate colored. "He's not _my_ Castle, Dad! It's not… like that with me and Castle. You _know_ that."

Her dad only raised his eyebrows at her skeptically. "It might not be like that between you and Rick _yet_ but that doesn't mean he's not yours." He paused and then added, quietly, "He cares about you, Katie."

"We're just friends, Dad. Really."

"Do you think I can't tell when a man is in love with my only daughter?"

Kate felt her eyes flare, her heart stuttering in her chest, her face—hell, her entire body—going hot. Her dad had _not_ just said that to her. It wasn't true—it _couldn't_ be true. "I—he—that's not—he doesn't," she stuttered and finally managed to choke out, "He's _not_ in love with me." He couldn't be. It was too much, too soon. They might have been working together for more than a year but they'd really only been friends since the fall when she'd forgiven him for looking into her mom's case and, until her apartment had exploded, had almost never spoken about anything aside from the precinct and work. He'd always flirted with her but it had been teasing and he'd never said, never even hinted—she _couldn't_ believe that he… that he _loved_ her. He was—he was _Richard freaking Castle_! And she was… just a cop and a cop who was guarded and defensive and prickly at that. Besides, they'd never even kissed, hardly ever touched at all—she couldn't imagine that Castle would or could feel so much, so intensely, about a woman he'd never even kissed.

"Your mother would have said the same thing about me a year after we met and look how that turned out."

Yes, Kate knew the story too, had heard all about how her parents had been work colleagues and friends for years first. She remembered the way her mom and dad had exchanged smiles when they spoke about that time.

But she remembered, too, seeing her dad, whom she'd only seen with tears in his eyes a scant handful of times while growing up, breaking down and sobbing like a child in the morgue after identifying her mother's body. She remembered herself crouching over the toilet in the cold sterile light of the morgue bathroom while retching up her dinner after that. She remembered the grief-stricken ghost her father had been in those first days afterwards. She remembered watching her father drown his sorrows in alcohol. And she felt a flare of panic inside her, the sharp reminder of that first devastating loss, and why she didn't—couldn't—let herself care too much, trust too much, rely on anyone ever.

She bit her lip, hesitating, but then finally decided to go on. This was her dad and while she wasn't really used to talking about men with him, unlike with Lanie, her dad of all people would understand why she was so afraid. "It's not that I don't… like Castle, Dad, I do," she finally admitted, having to force the words out and feeling herself blush hotly. God, had she _ever_ admitted to liking a man to her father before? She didn't think so. She'd only mentioned Royce as her training officer to her dad, whatever other feelings she may have had for Royce. And with Will, she'd only mentioned to her dad that she was seeing someone and she thought it was getting serious before she'd introduced the two of them.

But then, surprisingly, when Kate finally managed to look up at her dad, she saw that he was… smiling, looked decidedly amused. What was so funny about this?

"Oh, Katie, I already knew that you liked your Castle."

Kate gaped at him, nonplussed in spite of herself. "You knew?" How could he—she'd barely admitted to herself that she liked Castle as of a week ago! She certainly hadn't seen her dad in that time.

"I do know you, Katie-girl, and I've been listening to you talk about Rick for more than a year now and especially, saw the way you've talked about him and his relationship with his mother and his daughter the last time we met since you've been staying with them."

Kate felt herself flush. Well, damn, so much for having a poker face. She felt as if she'd just discovered that someone had stuck a sign on her back announcing 'I have a crush on Rick Castle' in some juvenile prank. "Well, I… we've just been friends, Dad, and work colleagues. That's all. And that hasn't changed. Me and Castle—it's not going to happen, Dad. It's _not_." She couldn't _let_ it happen.

Her dad gave her a curious look. "You sound awfully certain of that for someone who was just admitting how much you like the man. And having met him, I'm sure he already cares about you quite a bit."

He didn't—thank god—mention the l-word again.

"It would never work out, Dad. Castle—he's too risky and we're too different. We get along well enough as friends and colleagues but really, we have almost nothing in common. He's this multimillionaire celebrity with this huge loft and a Ferrari and a house in the Hamptons and I'm just a regular cop. Plus, he's childish and annoying and sometimes I just want to strangle him." Which was all true.

Except the wanting-to-strangle-him part had gotten muddled up with the wanting-to-rip-his-clothes-off thing but she couldn't say that to her father.

"No, dad, it's not going to happen. We'd never manage to make it work and then it would just be awkward at work and I don't want that to happen. I hate to admit it but he's actually been pretty helpful with our cases and he does make things more fun."

Her dad nodded, looking thoughtful. "All of that makes sense, Katie, but you know you sound like you're trying to convince yourself, not me."

Kate huffed. Damn it, why had she thought talking to her father about this would be helpful? Her dad was always supportive but he also knew her really well.

"I'm not," she insisted. She _wasn't_ trying to convince herself. "It's just… I'm not about to risk losing my friendship with Castle for a relationship that has no chance of lasting." She thought but couldn't quite bring herself to say aloud that she didn't want to care about him because then it would hurt too much when he inevitably left, decided he'd done enough research for Nikki Heat and would just concentrate on his writing and go back to his nice, safe, luxurious life. (She knew, although she wouldn't admit it to him, exactly how many books he'd published in how many years. Now, knowing about Alexis and, more specifically, the kind of mother Meredith was, she could guess at the two-and-a-half-year hiatus between books almost 15 years ago as being right around when Alexis was born and he was preoccupied with his new baby girl. And she knew, too, from pre-ordering all his books, another thing she had no intention of telling him about, that at the height of the Derrick Storm series, he'd had two books a year published, not the much slower publication schedule for Nikki Heat.)

Her dad sighed a little. "Oh Katie…"

He sat back and studied her for a moment.

Kate waited. She knew the look on her father's face, knew he was gathering his thoughts. It occurred to her suddenly how… odd… this was, to be talking about relationships, her personal life, with her father. For just a moment, talking about her feelings for a man, it almost seemed like one of the talks she'd had with her mom about boys before. And Kate felt a fierce surge of longing for her mom. Oh, she wanted to talk to her mother about this. She wanted to talk to her mom about all of this, her confusion over Castle, her fears over getting too close to him, her affection for Alexis. She wanted her mom to meet Castle, wondered what her mom would have thought of Castle—no, that wasn't entirely true. Kate knew what her mom would have thought of Castle. Johanna Beckett had liked Castle's books and would have enjoyed Castle's humor. She would have liked the way Castle could make Kate laugh and appreciated his kindness and his generosity. Yes, her mom would have liked Castle. And would probably have made Kate blush and inwardly writhe as she asked not-so-subtle questions about why Kate and Castle weren't together yet.

Talking with Alexis over things like clothes and schoolwork and boys as she had been was wonderful and Kate treasured it but she couldn't deny that sometimes, it was also exquisitely painful, reminding her of conversations Kate herself had had with her mother growing up. And reminding her too of all the conversations with her mom she would never be able to have again.

Her dad sighed and gave her a small, somewhat wobbly smile. "I keep thinking that your mom would be so much better at this sort of conversation than I am."

Kate managed a faint smile but she felt the sting of tears at the back of her eyes. "You're not doing so badly, Dad."

He reached across the table, taking one of her hands in both of his. "Look, Katie-girl, it's your life and your decision and if you honestly don't want a closer relationship with Rick, that's fine. I'll support you. I liked the man but you're my daughter and all I ever want is for you to be happy. That's the most important thing to me, always."

"I know, Dad, and I appreciate it."

"I just want to be sure that whatever you decide, it's because it's what you honestly want and not only because you're afraid of what might happen. Katie, I only met Rick once so I can hardly claim to know the man very well but I have seen the way you smile when you talk about him and I know that he makes you smile and laugh in a way I haven't seen in years."

Oh. Kate felt something inside her tighten. Because Castle did make her laugh. And that mattered too. Because looking back, Kate knew that she hadn't had much reason to laugh, not really, before he'd come along. She'd always been so focused on her job, on finding justice for the victims, on being the best cop she could be—and as a young, attractive female cop, she'd known she would need to work twice as hard and be twice as good as the other male cops in order to be taken seriously. It had paid off; she'd risen in the ranks, been made Detective, moved to the Homicide division which had always been her goal, and was the senior detective and de facto leader of her team.

But with all that, she was realizing, with the advent of Castle and more recently, staying at the loft and seeing the sort of family life he had, the welcoming, home-like warmth of the loft, just how… lonely and quiet her life had been before. She'd always thought she wanted the quiet, self-contained, organized life she'd led but she was discovering in these past few weeks that after all, maybe she'd been wrong. Because she liked talking over the day with Castle and Alexis and Martha over dinner, she liked listening to Alexis's stories and Martha's dramatics, she even liked the friendly bickering with Castle over whether and how much she could help out with making dinner or cleaning up afterwards. She liked being able to return to the loft and set aside for a time thoughts about murders and death in favor of listening to stories about, well, life—the life of a teenager and Martha's exuberant, spirited stories.

And she liked that even after a hard day at the precinct, Castle always found a way to make her laugh. She had realized that he acted sillier, more childish, after the days that were longer or harder and she knew it was meant to make her laugh and forget about it. The scary part was how often he was right about when a day had been hard—sometimes, it was obvious if a case was bad—but he seemed to sense it even when a day was hard for reasons other than a bad case. She never said anything about a day being hard, obviously, and she'd always thought she was good at hiding it but more often than not, he seemed to sense it somehow.

And that scared her too. Because she didn't want it to change, didn't want to lose the friendship that made her life easier. And she still couldn't imagine a real, romantic relationship with Castle lasting in the long run; neither his track record with romantic relationships nor hers inspired much confidence in that regard and she did still think that they were too different to make it work. She could be his friend—she wanted to be his friend—and she didn't want to risk losing that friendship, even for what she was sure would be some great sex. (And oh god, she had _not_ just thought that while sitting right across the table from her _father_.)

Kate fought back the urge to blush and was, gratefully, distracted when her dad asked, "Do you remember what happened when you first told your mom and me that you wanted to use your savings to buy a motorcycle?"

Kate had to laugh. "As if I could forget!"

Her dad laughed as well. "Right, of course."

It had not been a forgettable episode. Her normally soft-spoken, calm father had blown his stack—a fitting expression because it had been the first and only time Kate could remember of thinking that she might actually be able to see smoke coming from her father's ears as in the old cartoons. He had paced and gesticulated wildly and shouted, as he threatened to lock her up in her room for months, and Kate, in her teenage willfulness had made sharp remarks back until the argument had shown every sign of deteriorating into a battle royale.

It had been Kate's mom, normally the more voluble one of her parents, who'd been left to mediate, sending Kate to her room and talking to Jim alone for almost two hours, Kate remembered, before her parents had come to her room with a compromise of sorts. Kate had been allowed to buy the motorcycle with her savings but had solemnly promised always to wear a helmet and preferably other protective gear, had agreed to take twice the required number of hours of motorcycle safety lessons before getting her motorcycle license, and had promised only to ride the motorcycle during the daylight hours and never in bad weather and never on holidays where there would be a higher likelihood of drivers who may have had something to drink, even if not legally over the limit. And obviously, Kate had promised never to so much as touch her motorcycle if she'd had so much as a sip of alcohol herself.

Kate inwardly smiled a little, rather sad smile. To this day, she still followed those strictures when she rode her motorcycle, which admittedly wasn't often nowadays. It had been one of the last promises Kate had made to her mother and after everything, she couldn't imagine going back on her word to her mom.

Her dad's expression softened, became reminiscent and tinged with sadness, as usually happened when he thought about the past when her mom had been alive. "I was pacing and going on and on to your mom about how dangerous it was and how you didn't have the sense to know what you were doing. And your mom just listened for a while and then she said, 'you know something, Jim, I admit I wasn't glad when Katie said she wanted to get a motorcycle but the more I think about it, as worried as I am, I'm _proud_ of her too.'"

Kate made a small sound of surprise. "Mom said she was proud of me for wanting to buy a motorcycle?" Her mother had never said anything of the sort to her! When she'd presented the compromise to Katie, her mom had been all that was serious and resigned, the worried parent who still, reluctantly, decided to let their child spread their wings and leave the nest.

"I stared at her too and flatly told your mother that she had lost her mind," Jim said with a rueful little laugh. "But Johanna just looked at me and said in that way of hers, 'I'm more sane than you are right now, Jim Beckett, so don't give me that.'"

Kate laughed. "That does sound like mom." She could picture the expression on her mother's face as she said that.

"That made me stop and stare at your mom and finally sit down and listen to her. And you know what she said? She told me, 'our Katie has a good head on her shoulders and more sense than she's sometimes shown in these past few years. But she'll get over the teenage foolishness. What I'm proud of and what I don't want to change is that our Katie doesn't let fear hold her back from going after something she wants.'"

Kate let out a shaky breath. _Oh, Mom…_ "That was… a long time ago, Dad. Things are different now. I'm different now," she said quietly. She understood what her father was telling her but it had been a long time ago, had been another lifetime ago, Kate felt, before her mom had been murdered. Before, when Kate had still allowed herself to dream and hope and had believed in things like happy endings.

"It may have been a long time ago, Katie," her dad responded mildly, "but you're still the same person you used to be, grown up, but still our Katie-bug. And your mom knew you pretty well."

Kate had to smile. "Yeah, she did."

"Look, Katie, there's just one more thing I want to say and then we can change the subject and not talk about Rick again. You say that you don't think a relationship with you and Rick would work out, that you're too different. You may be right but the thing is that you don't know that for sure. Relationships aren't a math problem; there's no logical formula that guarantees that a relationship will last while another doesn't. There's no way of knowing whether a relationship will work unless you try. And whatever else, every relationship will have its challenges, that's unavoidable. I just don't want you to close yourself off to the possibility of a relationship that might make you happy because you're too afraid of an unknown future to take the risk. Rick cares about you, Katie, and he's a good man, if I'm any judge of character. Now, that doesn't mean you have to pursue a real relationship with him; it's always up to you to decide. I just want you to do it based on what you _want_, not just what you're afraid of."

She wanted to have sex with Castle, an errant voice in her mind interjected, before Kate could shut it up. It was most certainly not what her father meant by the word but damned if at least part of her brain hadn't reverted to being a hormonal teenager when it came to Castle. It was really annoying.

"I'll think about it, Dad," she promised.

Her dad smiled. "That's all I ask, Katie-girl."

And though she'd had every intention of changing the subject away from Castle, Kate found herself blurting out, "You liked Castle, Dad?" Because she'd been wondering about it since she'd first found out that Castle had met her father.

Her dad laughed a little. "I did. I recognized him right away from the picture on his book jackets, of course, but in person, he surprised me a little."

"Surprised you how?"

"Well, for one thing, he was clearly nervous. I didn't expect that a man who's so personable and so used to meeting people would be so ill at ease but I suppose the circumstances were somewhat unusual."

Kate suppressed a smile. Castle had been nervous, hmm? That was… kind of endearing. And a nervous Castle tended to look… younger, adorable. (_Oh, get a grip, Kate._)

Wait. Kate fixed a sharp gaze on her dad. "Dad, what did—you didn't tell Castle anything about me, did you?"

Her dad gave her a look of spurious innocence. "What, you mean like show him the pictures from your short-lived modeling career or tell him about the school play you were in when you were 7 or show him pictures of the time you tried on your mom's entire makeup collection when you were 8? I didn't think you would mind if he knew."

"Dad!"

Her (evil) father laughed. "Relax, Katie. I didn't tell him about any of those things. After the way you reamed me out for giving Javier and Kevin those pictures from your modeling career, I learned my lesson so I didn't tell stories about you, I promise, even though he did ask what you were like as a teenager."

Oh, he had, had he? Kate made a mental note to twist Castle's ear when she got back to the loft. Meeting with her father in secret to try to surprise her was one thing; using that meeting to do more "research" on Nikki Heat was another.

"Good," she said crisply.

Although come to think of it, she could have guessed that her dad wouldn't have mentioned the modeling thing because if he had, she knew that, surprise or no surprise, there was no way that Castle would have been able to resist making a remark about it. He might have tried to keep it in, in order to keep his secret, but she knew him; it would have come out sooner or later, most likely sooner. He could never have let such an opportunity for teasing her go.

She hesitated and then had to ask, "And what did Castle say about me?" (She inwardly cringed. She was so not winning any subtlety points right now. She was acting like a teenager with a crush asking a mutual friend if the object of said crush had ever mentioned her. Great, this was just great, she thought sarcastically. Castle acted like a 12-year-old half the time, she sometimes thought, and now she'd been reduced to acting like a 13-year-old girl because of him.)

Her dad smiled in a way that on just about anyone else would probably have been considered a smirk except Kate couldn't imagine her dad ever smirking, not really. "He said that you were a good friend. And that he thinks you're extraordinary." Her dad paused and then added, "But then, of course, you already knew that from the dedication of the Nikki Heat book, didn't you?"

Kate felt herself flushing, her heart fluttering in spite of herself. Castle had told her _father_ that he thought she was extraordinary? She didn't know why that somehow seemed even more significant than his telling her to her face that she was extraordinary but at that moment, it did.

"What else did you talk about?"

"Oh, nothing in particular. He talked about some of his experiences in the publishing industry, the legal side of things, and he talked about his daughter."

Kate smiled. "Of course. He loves to talk about Alexis."

"Yes, he's obviously very proud of his daughter." Her dad paused and then added, casually, "I can relate."

"Thanks, Dad. And Alexis is worth being proud of. Castle's done a good job with her."

"She sounds like quite the girl." He sobered a little. "I did wonder, a little, about the situation with her mother. You don't have to tell me anything," he hurriedly added, "It's not really any of my business since I've only met the man once, but I was curious. It's just that he rather spoke about his daughter as if she was a gift delivered to him by a stork and no one else had ever been involved in her existence. I've spoken to a lot of parents and even the divorced ones tend to mention their ex-es in the context of talking about their children, whether it's resentfully or positively."

Kate hesitated, wondering just how much she could say without it being a breach of Castle's trust and his privacy. It might just be her father but as her dad had acknowledged, he had after all only met Castle once and had never met Alexis at all, even if he had heard quite a bit about her. "Alexis's mom has not been… an involved parent so it really has been just Castle and Alexis for the most part."

"That must have been difficult, for both Rick and Alexis. It's commendable that Rick has succeeded so well with Alexis then."

"He is really good with her," Kate agreed. "But then he always says that he lucked out with Alexis and there's some truth to that because she's a really great kid." Kate paused, smiling at the thought of Alexis, as usual. And found herself admitting, "I offered to take Alexis out for Mother's Day."

Her dad's eyes widened. He knew, of course, that Kate usually spent Mother's Day quietly and alone, going up to leave flowers on her mom's grave but otherwise not doing much, unless it happened to be a weekend she was on shift, in which case she spent it at the precinct.

"That's nice of you, Katie." Her dad paused, hesitated, and then went on, a little cautiously, "I can see that you care about Alexis too and I know this probably isn't necessary but I want to remind you that whatever you decide about your relationship with Rick, it won't only affect the two of you. It will affect Alexis too, maybe more than it would in another family simply because of how close Rick and Alexis are."

"I know, Dad," Kate said quietly. She did know it. She didn't know what to do about it exactly but she did know it. And she also knew that in one sense, her thinking about how Alexis might be affected wouldn't matter much because Castle would definitely put Alexis first. She hadn't known him for so long without realizing that. No matter what, Castle would always put Alexis first.

And it abruptly occurred to her, a stirring of warmth in her chest, just how much Castle trusted her, as he clearly did, in letting her spend so much time with Alexis. She remembered what Alexis had said, about how Castle never brought his dates home, and she should have guessed as much, really. Castle would always protect Alexis. And Castle _trusted_ her. It was one thing for him to trust her with the combination of his safe; it was another thing entirely to trust her with his daughter because Alexis was the most precious thing in the world to Castle.

She remembered what her father had said, _do you think I can't tell when a man is in love with my only daughter?_

She didn't—she couldn't—believe that Castle really loved her, not like that, not yet. She didn't know if he _could_ love her. (Why would he love her? He could be with anyone he wanted.)

But he trusted her with his _daughter_.

_He cares about you, Katie. _

And she abruptly, belatedly, realized that whatever Castle felt for her—and she _couldn't_ believe that it was love, not really, not yet—it _was_ serious. He wanted a real, serious relationship. He had to. He would never have let her get so close to Alexis if he didn't. She might doubt everything else but she _knew_ that. Castle's love for Alexis was as much a fact of life as the sun rising in the east. It was, oddly enough, possibly the thing she liked best about Castle, his unswerving, unconditional devotion to his daughter.

She suddenly remembered what she'd thought when Alexis had returned from her camping trip last week—that the woman lucky enough to be truly loved by Rick Castle, loved the way he loved Alexis and his mother, would be able to trust him to stand with her, support her, in everything.

And for the first time, it occurred to her to think, with equal parts terror and hope, that she wanted to be the woman Castle loved like that.

She sucked in a shaky breath, feeling as if everything inside her might be trembling. She had the odd sense that she was standing near the edge of a cliff, so close, just a couple steps away from falling.

It was terrifying.

But if she could believe that Castle might—that he could—really love her like that, then she might be able to take the steps forward and fall. Fall, trusting that his love would give her wings.

_~To be continued…~_

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_A/N: As always, thank you, everyone, for reading. _


	15. Chapter 15

Author's Note: A warning, first of all, that this chapter is very long and, in all honesty, about twice as long as necessary. (My bad.) All I can say is that Castle and Beckett fell into one of their back-and-forth conversations and most of this chapter basically wrote itself before I realized how long it was getting. Also, I'm appropriating one of my favorite parts of S3's "Law and Murder" and using some dialogue from 5x6 "The Final Frontier," because I had rather too much (meta) fun over Nathan-Fillion-as-Castle in this chapter, for which I have no real defense except that I loved Nathan as Captain Mal Reynolds in _Firefly_ first and I think, in spite of how much I love Castle, I still love Nathan best as Captain Reynolds. That said, enjoy!

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**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 15_

Kate returned to the loft to see Castle perched on one of the stools at the kitchen island, paging through the newspaper with the dirty plate from his own lunch still sitting on the island in front of him.

Kate rolled her eyes a little. The man just didn't clean up after himself, she'd discovered. He cleaned up after family dinners, when he stubbornly refused to let her help, but when it was just him eating, he had no problem with leaving his dirty dishes out. She'd found plates left in his office after he'd brought in food to munch on while he wrote, found dirty cups left out on the coffee table and on his office desk.

It drove her crazy.

He looked up and gave her a small wave. "Hey, Beckett. How was lunch with your dad?"

"Fine. My dad and I had a nice talk," she answered. "My dad says hello."

Castle waved exaggeratedly at some spot behind her. "Hi, Jim!"

She suppressed a smile. Ridiculous man.

Reaching the kitchen, Kate caught his ear between two of her fingers, twisting it lightly.

He yelped and jerked back, giving her an exaggeratedly injured look. "Ow! What was that for?" (Such a child. She knew perfectly well she hadn't really hurt him, hadn't been trying to hurt him, but he would play it up.)

Kate smirked at him. "That was for trying to get my dad to tell you stories about me growing up."

"He didn't tell me anything, I swear, Beckett!" Castle protested. "Really!"

"I know, Castle. Dad told me he hadn't but he also told me that you were the one that asked him."

Castle huffed. "It was just a question," he pouted. "No need to get violent."

She laughed. "I'm trained in combat, Castle. If I were going to get violent, believe me, I wouldn't start with your ear. The ear-twisting was a warning. No sneaking around behind my back to find out embarrassing stories from my past."

"Understood, Detective."

She nodded and then moved around him to pick up his dirty plate.

"Beckett, don't," he protested. "You don't have to pick up after me."

She only threw him a look. "I know that, Castle, but I hate seeing dirty dishes lying around, unlike you."

"I was going to clean it up."

She snorted. "When Alexis got home tonight and made you do it?"

He opened his mouth on a denial and then closed it again, looking decidedly disgruntled. Ha, she'd got him there. She laughed at him. "See, I do know you, Castle. I haven't lived here for a month without getting to know your habits."

He made a face at her. "Yes, fine, you've got me there. I'm a slob. Happy now?"

"I'd be happier if you'd remember to pick up after yourself but I suppose if Alexis has been trying unsuccessfully for fifteen years, you're a hopeless cause," she said with an exaggerated sigh.

"Alexis was much nicer in her training."

"That's probably because she didn't want to put up with your whining," she shot back immediately.

"Well, since you're being mean to me and my daughter has deserted me in favor of spending the day with her friends, I'm going to go to the Angelika and comfort myself by watching _Forbidden Planet_."

"Oh, I love that movie," she blurted out without even meaning to.

He stopped, turning back to her. "Really?"

"You don't have to sound so surprised, Castle. I do watch movies, you know."

"I know. I just hadn't thought… well, in that case, Beckett, do you want to come?"

She hesitated now, abruptly feeling a little uncertain. She shouldn't. (She wanted to.) She'd managed, in the few off-duty days she'd had since staying at the loft, to avoid spending most of the day with him. She'd gone out shopping with Lanie a couple times, had met up with her dad for lunch a few weeks ago when Castle and Alexis had gone to the zoo, and she'd been apartment hunting. But today, she hadn't made any appointments to look at apartments and had nothing else planned for the day.

It was just a movie.

She heard her dad's voice in her mind. _Do you think I can't tell when a man is in love with my only daughter? _

Was he—surely he couldn't be—asking her out? She didn't think so. He was Richard Castle, after all. He took his dates to expensive, exclusive restaurants like Le Cirque or Drago.

He gave her one of his puppy-dog looks, widening his eyes. "Please, Beckett, save me from being one of those sad, lonely people who go to the theatre alone."

And she gave in. It was just a movie, she told herself. Friends could go watch a movie together. "Sure, I'll come."

He smiled, his eyes, his entire face, lighting up with joy and she felt a little niggle of self-consciousness, crawl through her. He wasn't reacting as if this were just a trip to the movies with a friend, was he?

But you don't want him thinking of you as only a friend, a voice in her mind reminded her.

She pushed the unhelpful thought aside. She wasn't going to think about it now.

It was just a movie.

At the Angelika, they argued, briefly, over his insisting on buying her ticket as well as his before compromising by agreeing, him reluctantly, that she would pay for the popcorn and candy.

They sat in the back of the theatre after Castle warned her, "I should probably tell you that I have a bad habit of talking during movies."

She snorted quietly. "That doesn't surprise me at all."

They settled into their seats as the opening credits began and Castle said in an excited whisper, "I love this movie."

She suppressed a smile. She should have known he would love this movie. It was a perfectly Castle movie.

And the fact that he shared her love of this movie—well, she couldn't deny that it sent a little thrill wriggling through her. Maybe, just maybe, they weren't so different in everything…

The movie started and Kate froze as she suddenly felt the warmth of his arm pressing against her shoulder as he leaned in closer to her, quoting the first lines of the movie in a low whisper. She could feel his breath against her cheek and her ear, smell him. And really, there were fewer lines in the history of movies less seductive than the opening lines of the Narrator about the moon landing and discovery of hyperdrive, but his voice, low and husky and barely above a breath, had desire thrumming through her veins, heat pooling low in her stomach. And she had the fuzzy thought that he could probably seduce anyone even by reading the dictionary aloud. His voice should be illegal. Really. She would have to see to it. Arrest him for having a voice that was lethal to the human race—and then, purely for the good of humanity, of course, ensure that no other woman ever heard him speaking in this soft, dusky voice that seemed to feather along every nerve ending she possessed.

Oh god.

He needed to stop talking. Now. Five minutes ago.

She turned her head to hiss at him to shut up but—bad idea. Very very bad idea. She'd forgotten—momentarily—amazingly—how close they were with him leaning in to her like this and now, their noses were barely an inch apart, their breaths mingling—and then they weren't, because she'd forgotten how to breathe. In the dark of the theatre, she couldn't—small mercy—see his eyes but she sensed and felt and heard the slight hitch of his breath as he—another small mercy—broke off and stopped talking.

She—he—oh god—what—she'd been going to say something, hadn't she? What had she been going to say again?

_Why aren't you kissing me?_

No, no, no! That wasn't it! Shit. Get a grip, Kate Beckett!

"Stop talking," she ordered in a quiet hiss—or she intended to order. Her voice was so breathless it came out sounding more like a plea and sounded more like encouragement than anything else.

But he jerked back as if he were a puppet whose strings had been yanked backwards. "Sorry," he croaked out.

Kate felt a little niggle of doubt, of hurt, creep through her at how violently he'd recoiled from her once recalled to himself. Any faster and he would have gotten whiplash.

Didn't he want to kiss her?

And why was she feeling so disappointed that he hadn't? They were in a movie theatre, a public place. She shouldn't want to kiss him for the first time in public and, worse, in the dark where she couldn't see his eyes, his expression.

Kate huffed out her breath in annoyance at herself and forced her eyes back to the movie screen.

Not so much her attention, though. She tried—really, she did—but she was hyper-aware of Castle sitting next to her, her attention dragged back to him every time he shifted in his seat. She went to grab some popcorn and her fingers brushed against his, their fingers momentarily almost entangling, and they both startled back and she abruptly decided that salty popcorn was the last thing she needed when her mouth had already gone dry.

And realized over the next half hour that, as far as she was concerned, the cost of her ticket had been a loss because if she hadn't already watched _Forbidden Planet_ half a dozen times already, she wouldn't have been able to follow a thing with how spotty her attention was. She didn't try to get popcorn again, not daring to, but it didn't matter. Everything in her, it seemed, was focused on Castle, her eyes straying to his hands and his face whenever the reflected glow from the movie briefly illuminated him. She sensed his every faint smile as he watched the movie, heard the way he occasionally very quietly mouthed the dialogue along with the characters, although he never—annoyingly—thankfully—leaned in towards her again. She risked the occasional sidelong glance at his face and suppressed a smile because even in the darkness of the theatre, she could see how into this he was, how much he loved this movie, knew that for brief stretches, with his vivid imagination, he _was_ Dr. Morbius or J.J. Adams. And she felt that dangerous warmth flare up inside her chest at being able to share one of her favorite movies with Castle like this, at his whole-hearted enjoyment of it. And at that moment, she didn't even care that she couldn't pay attention to the movie to save her life, _Forbidden Planet_ for once failing to hold her interest. At that moment, she would rather watch Castle watching _Forbidden Planet_.

(Oh, she really did have it bad.)

Somewhere in her head, Kate could just hear Lanie crowing with glee.

Kate couldn't decide if she was sorry or not when the movie ended, the lights coming back on in the theatre.

Castle looked over at her with a grin. "That was awesome."

She had to laugh. "I can't believe how excited you still are since, judging from the way you were quoting along with the movie, you must have seen it at least a dozen times by now."

"More like two dozen," he admitted rather sheepishly. "What? I love it. It's got robots and aliens! It doesn't get any cooler than that!"

She grinned. "Don't forget Leslie Neilsen."

"No, of course not," he agreed. "He's great."

"I'm always a little surprised when I see him in _Naked Gun_ to remember it's the same guy," Kate admitted.

"Yeah, me too," he agreed as he tossed the popcorn and candy containers into the trash on their way out of the theatre.

Once outside, Kate blinked, a little disoriented for a second at the brightness after the darkness of the theatre.

"Is it me or is it always a little strange to come out of a movie and find that it's still light out?" he commented, more to himself than to her, echoing her thought so exactly that she gave him a surprised look.

"I was just thinking the same thing," she said with a soft laugh.

He smiled. "You know what they say about great minds, Detective."

She snorted. "Since when do you have a great mind?"

He pouted. "I was _going_ to suggest we get a burger at Remy's but if you're just going to insult me, I take it back."

She pretended to think about it. "Hmm, be nice to you for a while, that's a hard one… Oh, I suppose, but only because they've got the best shakes."

"So you can be bribed with a good shake. Good to know," he nodded solemnly as if filing the information away.

She hid a smile. "What exactly are you planning on doing that you want to know how to bribe a cop?"

He threw her a look. "You think I'm going to tell you? What am I, crazy?"

She had to laugh. "You know, I think that about you every day."

"Hey! You said you'd be nice to me!"

"I thought that only started once we actually got to Remy's."

He shook his head. "Nope, it already started. So be nice, Detective, or you'll miss out on that shake."

"You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Castle."

He slid a sidelong smirk at her. "I'm good at extortion. It comes from living in the same household as my mother and Alexis."

She laughed. "Why on earth would Alexis need to extort anything from you? I don't believe it."

"Oh, she fools people because she's got that innocent look going for her but she's got Martha Rodgers's blood in her veins and it shows."

"Alexis is a sweetheart, Castle. I don't believe she'd ever stoop to extortion."

He gave her a look of feigned offense. "Are you calling me a liar, Detective Beckett?"

She opened her mouth to say yes but then remembered his joking threat to withhold a shake from Remy's. Not that she expected that he'd ever go through with it but she had promised. Sort of. "No, I just think you have a penchant for hyperbole and melodramatic diction."

"You are so hot when you talk all literary," he blurted out.

And something about his look, his tone, made her blush and duck her head in what she was sure would be a mostly futile attempt to hide it, even as her hand came up in an automatic, unthinking gesture to curl a tendril of hair around her finger. "What's your favorite part in _Forbidden Planet_?" she asked quickly, changing the subject in an attempt to distract him so she could regain her composure. "No, wait, let me guess, every part involving Robbie the Robot."

That distracted him as she'd expected and he smiled. "Robbie the Robot is awesome but really, I don't know if I can choose a favorite part. I love it all, really. I love being able to see how it inspired _Star Wars_ and the _Matrix_; it's such a seminal movie in the entire sci fi genre!"

She smiled. Yeah, her distraction had definitely worked. His eyes had that happy, excited spark in them now, his voice filled with that childlike enthusiasm that was so much a part of him. This side of Castle she was comfortable with. And she couldn't help but think that he was just so cute when he got so excited. "You are such a geek, Castle. Is there a single sci fi TV show or movie that you don't like?"

He threw her a look of mock affront. "I'll have you know that my tastes are much more discriminating than that," he said in the exaggeratedly pompous tone he occasionally adopted when he was proclaiming himself an expert in something. "I am a sci fi connoisseur so I know what's good and what's bad. And I only like _good_ sci fi."

"Enlighten me, Mr. Connoisseur," she quipped. "What meets the Richard Castle standard of good sci fi?"

"_Star Wars_, of course, the original ones, not the latest movies that are mostly dreck. _Star Trek. Battlestar. Doctor Who_. That Joss Whedon show, _Firefly_. Now _that_ was an awesome show. I loved that one. I'm still not over the fact that they cancelled it," he added in a disgruntled aside.

She laughed a little. "They did make a movie about it too, though. That had to mean something."

"Oh, I loved the movie too, don't get me wrong. But it just wasn't quite the same. It was one of those stories that worked best in the episodic TV show format and a movie just couldn't have the same extent of character development, of really building on the themes of the show. And the universe created in the show had so much potential to build on. One two-hour movie really couldn't do justice to it all."

She suppressed a laugh. "Spoken like a true storyteller."

He grinned. "What, I'm a writer, I'm always thinking in terms of stories. Those are good sci fi. What I can't stand is bad sci fi, like that show, what's-it-called, the one that actress, Stephanie Frye, who's just coming out in that movie, _Don't Let Me Drown_, was in."*

"You mean _Nebula 9_?" Just saying the name of the show brought back a flood of memories, of marathon viewings of the show with a group of friends at Stanford her first year of college, the last year before her life had been ripped apart. Of cos-playing Lieutenant Chloe at sci fi conventions.

"Yes, _Nebula 9_. Now that was a terrible show."

Kate stiffened and ducked her head, seaming her lips together. "Why don't you like it?"

He scoffed. "What's to like. I mean, really, a handful of Academy cadets on a training mission and suddenly the earth is destroyed and they're all that's left of humanity—I mean, come on, Beckett. That's the cheesiest premise for a sci fi show ever. And then it was all phony melodrama and lifeless acting."

Kate schooled her expression into blankness and kept her gaze steadfastly fixed away from him. She wasn't going to say anything. She wasn't.

He was still going on. "It may have been cancelled after 12 episodes but that was 12 episodes too—" He abruptly broke off and she glanced at him in surprise to see him gaping at her.

No. No, he hadn't. He couldn't have.

"Beckett, tell me you didn't like _Nebula 9_."

He had.

_How_ did he guess these things about her? How did he read her so well?

She bit her lip but then had to admit, "Yes, I did."

He gave an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head with the air of someone who'd been disappointed by a misbehaving child. "Oh, Beckett, really, I credited you with having better taste than that."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Says the man who has a really worn-out old DVD of _Starship Troopers_. And remember I've seen what's on your DVR."

"Hey, don't knock _Starship Troopers_. That was a great movie!"

She scoffed. "Sure, if you don't mind the terrible acting and weak plot. I mean, really, giant alien bugs?"

"It was a portrait of a dystopian society that's actually really powerful, if you think about it!"

She raised her eyebrows at him. "And the fact that everyone in that movie is basically gorgeous has nothing to do with your enjoyment of it at all?"

He answered with an entirely straight face, "I swear that I have never in my life thought that the actor that played Carl Jenkins was gorgeous."**

She laughed. "He's adorable and you know it, even if his character in the movie was a bit of a jerk."

He shrugged. "Anyway, a lot of those gorgeous people, as you put it, end up dead in really horrific ways, remember."

She made a face and shuddered a little, mostly for effect. "Oh, I remember."

He grinned at her. "What, you didn't like the graphic ways the giant alien bugs killed people?"

"It turned me away from food for a couple hours after watching it."

He laughed. "Yeah, it sort of did for me too. And it gave poor Alexis nightmares for three nights running after she saw it for the first time."

Kate fixed a severe look on him. "Castle, tell me you didn't inflict a movie like that on Alexis when she was really young."

He held up his hands in surrender. "I didn't, I swear, Beckett. It was just last summer when she was almost 15. I thought she could handle it."

"I take it you thought wrong."

He made a rueful face. "Yeah. I sort of forgot how much Alexis doesn't like bugs."

"Castle!"

"I know, I know! I learned my lesson and believe me, I paid dearly for it too."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. "How did you pay for it?"

"With a sore back and a crick in my neck, to start with. Alexis insisted that I sleep in her room the first two nights and sleeping in a chair is a killer."

She had to laugh at his expression of exaggerated suffering.

"And then she took my credit card on a shopping trip with some of her friends. My mother trained Alexis early in the ways of retail therapy and its good friend, retail revenge."

Kate grinned. "Serves you right, Castle."

He made a face at her "You mock my wallet's pain."

"Says the multimillionaire with the enormous loft and the Ferrari," she shot back.

He shrugged a little. "I didn't say my wallet took a fatal blow but it still hurt."

She only shook her head at him, trying (and mostly failing) to hold back her smile at his silliness.

Castle was silent for a moment and then he began again, "You distracted me from the main point and that is that you actually liked that piece of drivel known as _Nebula 9_, Beckett?"

Damn it, she should have known he wouldn't have forgotten. He was easily distracted, yes, but he usually found his way back to the original point eventually. And when it was something that came with potential for teasing, then he would definitely remember it.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Yes. Yes, I did," she admitted defiantly.

"How could you like that show?" he asked as reproachfully as if liking _Nebula 9_ were a personal insult. "I mean, really, it was so cheesy and it ignored the laws of physics, to say nothing of good storytelling. The acting was just plain awful and—"

He broke off as she reached up to pinch his ear, losing patience with this insulting litany.

"Stop it, Castle," she told him severely. "It may have been cheesy and, yes, melodramatic, but it was so much more than that too. It was about leaving home for the first time, about searching for your identity, and making a difference. And Lieutenant Chloe was my hero for a while. She didn't care what anybody thought about her and I kinda did at the time. She was a scientist and a warrior and that was all in spite of how she looked and I loved that. It might have been silly but the show inspired me; Lieutenant Chloe inspired me. So no making fun, okay, Castle?"

"Okay," he agreed, giving her a small, understanding smile.

Looking at him, she could see that he understood. He was a fan and a storyteller. He knew how the fictional worlds created in shows and movies and, yes, books could inspire people, could change people's lives. Just as his books had changed her life.

She gave in to her reminiscent smile. "I had so much fun watching that show. A bunch of friends and I used to watch it together in costume and I loved it. I loved dressing up as Lieutenant Chloe." She broke off, abruptly realizing what she'd let slip. Damn it. What was it about him that made her talk to him? What was it about him that had her telling him things?

He was gaping at her. "You—you dressed up in costume?"

She sighed. "Yes. Shut up, Castle."

"I wasn't…"

"You weren't commenting really loudly."

He pouted at her. "Beckett, you can't let something like that slip and then not let me talk about it! That's just cruel!"

She smirked. "Get used to it, Castle."

"But Beckett…" he began, a whine entering his voice.

"No, Castle, or I'm telling Espo and Ryan the story of how you were crying like a baby the first time Alexis called you Dada."

He made a face at her. "That's blackmail, Detective," he grumbled.

She smirked at him. "No, it would be blackmail if I asked for money but since I'm not, just consider it a promise."

He pouted at her but was distracted as they arrived at Remy's and he automatically held the door open for her.

Kate smiled as she saw Susan, the waitress who'd been at Remy's so long she was almost as much of a fixture as the menu, wave and bustle over to them. Kate remembered the first time she and Castle had come to Remy's together, after their disastrous pseudo double-date to Drago and their mutual surprise to realize that Susan knew them both as regulars. Kate stopped in on a fairly regular basis because Remy's was on the way home to her apartment from the precinct and she did love their burgers and Castle had explained that he'd discovered Remy's by accident years ago and realized that they had great burgers and the best shakes and had kept coming back.

"Detective," Susan greeted and then turned her attention and her smile to Castle. "And Ricky! My two favorite customers. Are you two on another date?"

Kate forced a small laugh, feeling herself flush. "No." It wasn't a date. (Was it?) And _another_ date? The time they'd been here before hadn't been a date either—although, now that she thought about it, Susan had refused to believe it when they'd both said as much the last time.

Kate had probably never been more thankful for Castle's ability to grab attention when he stepped in. "Now, Susan, why would I go on a date with Detective Beckett when I'm still hoping that you'll agree to go out with me?" he asked her, smiling at her winningly and directing all the charm of his blue eyes on her.

Making the older woman laugh and flap a hand. "Nonsense, don't be silly, Ricky. I'm old enough to be your mother."

Castle drew back in feigned shock, his jaw dropping theatrically. "I don't believe it! You don't look a day over 35," he declared.

Susan laughed again and blushed a little, her eyes lighting up with pleasure, even as she wagged a mock-scolding finger at Castle. "You are an incorrigible flirt, young man," she told him as she directed them to a booth and gave them both menus.

Kate bit the inside of her lip to hold back her smile. Castle might be incorrigible but oh, it was hard to resist a man who would exert his considerable charm on a woman who was within nodding distance of 70, making her blush and laugh and feel young and beautiful and admired again.

Castle smiled at Susan. "Now, how is a man supposed to help it when faced with so much female beauty and charm?"

Susan shook her head although she smiled indulgently. "Save your flattery for Detective Kate, Ricky." (Kate had to smile at Susan's way of calling her Detective Kate; no one else ever did. She was either just Kate or she was Beckett but Susan had been so impressed when Kate had first told her that she was a Detective that Susan rarely missed out on a chance to call Kate by that title, even though Kate had told Susan more than once to call her simply Kate.)

Castle pouted. "She doesn't let me flatter her and she's mean to me."

Susan laughed as she walked away. "Don't be silly, Ricky."

Kate smirked at him. "Yeah, don't be silly, _Ricky_."

Something she couldn't read flitted across his face at her use of his given name. She never used it and anyway, would never call him Ricky except to tease, as she had just now. She suddenly remembered the times he'd called her Kate and felt a little frisson of… _something_ go through her. Because he had a way of making the use of her first name sound… like an intimacy.

Kate pushed the thought aside and raised her eyebrows at him. "I want to know how you can say that Alexis is good at extortion."

"You weren't around the time I forgot about Alexis."

Kate almost choked and stared. "You forgot Alexis?! Castle, I don't believe it." She couldn't believe it, really. She knew what kind of father he was, saw every day just how much he loved Alexis.

"Oh, it happened," he assured her and seeing the expression on his face, the lingering guilt suddenly clouding his eyes, she had to believe him.

"What happened?" she asked quietly.

"It was when Alexis was in 2nd grade. At the time, I did all my writing when she was at school or at night after she went to bed because whenever she was around, obviously, I had to pay attention to her." His expression softened, a small smile curving his lips, his voice becoming so tender that Kate felt her heart melt even knowing that the tenderness was for Alexis. "We had so much fun together, she and I. It was great. She used to say I was her best friend."

"I'm sure she'd still say that now."

He blinked, a wistful look crossing his face. "Maybe, but I know it's not the same. She's… growing up, is a teenager now. And besides," he made an exaggerated face, "I can hardly talk to her about things like makeup and clothes and stuff like that."

Kate couldn't help but laugh. "No, you can't." And then found herself saying, without even meaning to, "She has me to talk to about that sort of thing now."

His eyes flew up to hers, widening a little, and she abruptly realized what that had sounded like, as if she was… family, the mom Alexis didn't really have. "I mean, while I'm staying at the loft," she added quickly and then inwardly winced. No, that wasn't right either. She didn't mean that. "Not that I'd just stop talking to Alexis once I move out or anything. I'm Alexis's friend too."

He gave her one of those small, warm smiles that only faintly touched his lips and existed mostly in his eyes, a soft warm light in them, the smile she saw most often when he was looking at Alexis. "Thank you for that, Kate."

_Ohh._ Oh damn, he'd done it again. She couldn't help it. Her eyes fluttered closed for a fleeting second, a tiny shiver going through her. God, he shouldn't be able to do this to her, to turn her bones to water just from the way he said her name, the way he somehow managed to soften the hard consonance of her name, the k and the t, making her name sound like an endearment…

And then—thank god—Susan returned with water for them and the spell, or something, was broken.

Kate blinked and mentally shook herself. (_Get a grip, Kate._)

"So, what'll you two have?" Susan asked.

Kate forced a smile. "I'll have my usual and a strawberry shake, thanks, Susan."

"And I'll have _my_ usual and a chocolate shake," Castle said.

Susan smirked a little. "You two are so cute."

Castle adopted a look of wide-eyed innocence as he nodded, "I know. I'm adorable."

Kate sputtered with laughter and Susan joined in, winking at Kate as she turned away. "He's a handful, Detective Kate. I wish you luck with him."

Kate fought back a blush and changed the subject. "You were telling me about the time you forgot Alexis."

"Right, yes. She was in 2nd grade and that day, I just got really inspired. It was one of those times when I couldn't type fast enough to keep up with the flow of words in my head and I got lost in it."

"You got sucked into the Vortex," Kate supplied, remembering Alexis's term for it.

He laughed a little. "Yeah, basically. Anyway, when I emerged from my writing fog, it was after 4 in the afternoon; I'd been writing for almost 6 hours and had forgotten to eat lunch and I was going to eat something when I remembered Alexis."

"Oh, no."

He made a rueful grimace. "'Oh, no' is right. I panicked, almost tripped and cracked my head on the floor in my rush to put on shoes and even so, when Alexis and I got back later that day, I found I'd put on mismatched shoes. At any rate, I ran like a maniac to Alexis's school. I don't think I breathed until I got there and saw her sitting on the steps of the school."

"She was all alone?" Kate asked in some horror.

"No, thank God. It turned out that when Alexis realized I was late, she went back into the school and offered to help her teacher straighten the classroom out a little and prepare some things for class the next day and when they were done and I still hadn't arrived, Alexis's teacher stuck around too and waited with Alexis. Alexis's teacher said that they were just thinking about calling me when I arrived."

"That's lucky."

"Believe me, Beckett, I know. I would have happily given Alexis's teacher a million dollars for the way she waited with Alexis that day. I thanked her profusely and I made sure to give her a really nice gift at the end of the school year and told her if she ever needed anything to let me know."

That sounded like Castle. "Did she take you up on it?"

"Yes, actually. A few years later, she applied for a vice principal position at this prestigious private school and asked me to give her a recommendation."

"Did it work?"

Castle momentarily looked sheepish but he answered, "Yeah. I gave her a great recommendation and that, combined with a small donation to the school, got her the job." He shrugged a little. "It wasn't only for that day. Alexis liked her a lot, said she was a great teacher and I trusted Alexis's opinion."

Kate smiled. He was a generous man and for his daughter's sake… "How did Alexis react to you forgetting her?"

"We went out for a special dinner and then had ice cream and Alexis got a double scoop plus all the toppings. And then before she would forgive me, I had to get her a new bicycle, two new pairs of shoes, a stack of books, a stuffed animal, and a set of authentic _Star Wars_ light sabers."

Kate laughed. "Okay, I don't think you can count the light sabers. Those, you would have gotten her anyway, Castle, admit it. And you probably wanted them more than she did."

He gave her a look of mock affront. "That is so not true!"

She only raised her eyebrows at him and he gave in. "Oh, fine, yes, it's true. I'd already been planning to get them for her but I'd been meaning to wait for her next birthday. She got them six months early instead."

She grinned. "Ha, see, I know you, Castle."

"So you do, Detective."

Susan brought their food over at that moment and their conversation slowed a little as they both became absorbed in their burgers.

The rest of dinner passed quickly as they ate mostly in silence only occasionally interspersed with their usual banter and teasing. He stole some of her fries and she scolded him for it but there was no bite in her tone and she knew he knew it because he only grinned and a few minutes later, stole some more fries. She narrowed her eyes at him but it was a half-hearted attempt at a glare at best.

And she found herself thinking that if this was what it was like to date Richard Castle, it would be easy and so much fun.

But that wasn't the problem, was it, had never really been the problem. She didn't doubt that the going-on-dates part would be fun with Castle; he was good company, amusing and intelligent and charming—and hot. Just as she didn't doubt that sex with Castle would be incredible.

It was everything else that went into a real relationship she couldn't quite picture—getting past the everyday annoyances, the differences in personality and lifestyle that would inevitably crop up and cause dissension.

As much as she cared about Castle, she didn't want to risk losing what they had for a relationship that she still couldn't quite see as lasting.

Not because she didn't trust him to try to make a real relationship work—she did. In spite of his track record, she trusted him, even more than she'd realized, and she knew he was serious about her. It wasn't him she doubted, she realized for the first time. It was _herself._

_She_ was the one she didn't trust to be able to make a real relationship work. She had the ability to screw everything up in a relationship because of her own walls, her defenses, her inability to let people in.

It was what she did, she realized with a clarity she hadn't had before. She was the one who had really ended her relationship with Will, not Will himself, not really. In all the time since the break-up, she'd told herself that _he_ had left her and literally, it was true, but that wasn't the whole story. She might have thought she loved Will, might have started to think that she could see herself marrying Will, but she'd never said as much to anyone, let alone to Will himself, who of all people had the right to know. She'd kept it to herself, protected herself by not opening herself up like that, not admitting how much she cared. Will had chosen to leave, to take the job in Boston and leave her, but she hadn't given him a reason to stay, had she? She'd never told Will she thought she might love him—she questioned her feelings for Will now but at the time, she'd believed she loved him or at least was starting to love him—never told Will she thought she could see herself marrying him. She'd given crumbs, just enough to keep their relationship going, but had still kept herself held back.

She'd built up walls and scaffolding, a fortress, around her heart to ensure that she was never hurt so deeply, left so utterly devastated and in ruins again, first by her mother's death and then her father's desertion in drowning himself in alcohol for years. She had trained herself to need no one, rely on no one. Had told herself that if she never relied on anyone, never really gave herself, her heart, to anyone else, that she would never be hurt so deeply again.

And it had, for the most part, worked. Royce had left, had essentially disappeared off the face of the planet as far as she was concerned the moment she'd been done with her training, made it more than clear that he wasn't even a friend to stick around. Will had left and it had hurt but she'd picked herself up again and moved on.

She protected herself by trying, always, to keep some emotional distance from people, from everyone. Never letting anyone get too close, trusting anyone too much. It was automatic, instinctive, by now and she didn't know how to change it, didn't know if she could change. It was the only way she knew how to function, the only way she knew how to be the person she was now, the strong, capable, independent Detective.

And she didn't want to—couldn't—risk this friendship with Castle, this friendship that made her laugh even on her hard days when she felt like she might drown in the darkness and death that was her job—for a relationship that would fall apart when Castle got fed up with her walls and defenses. When he realized that he could be with anyone he wanted, could be with a woman who was open-hearted and hopeful and fun and happy and all those things that Kate herself was not, had not been since the terrible January day that had ripped her world apart. (He deserved to be with someone like that, someone who would bring joy into his life and wouldn't drag him with her into her world revolving around darkness and death.)

When they left Remy's, Kate automatically turned towards her apartment.

"Beckett."

She stopped and turned back to him seeing an odd look on his face before he said, gently, "Wrong way, Beckett."

Kate froze. Oh.

She had, somehow, amazingly, in the sheer familiarity of being back at Remy's, forgotten, for just a moment, that she didn't have an apartment to return to. Her apartment was gone, destroyed, along with most of what she owned. She felt a small shiver go through her at the memory, the desperate lunge into her bathroom tub, the percussion of the explosion, the heat from the blast.

"Oh, right. Force of habit," she explained, trying to smile.

"Yeah," he agreed but his voice was quiet and as she turned and fell into step beside him, heading towards the loft this time, she felt his hand come up and rest, lightly, on her back.

It was a small, instinctive, protective gesture, such a simple thing but it made her feel… taken care of in a way she hadn't allowed herself to feel in years.

It felt… wonderful and for a fleeting micro-second, Kate considered slowing, shifting just slightly closer to him so he would keep his hand on her back.

But she was Detective Kate Beckett. She didn't need anyone to take care of her. She didn't know how to _be_ _taken care_ _of_. She took care of herself.

She straightened her spine and let her stride lengthen into her usual confident one and felt his hand drop from her back.

He was her friend and her partner. And that was enough, would have to be enough.

_~To be continued…~_

* * *

_* With due apologies to Gina Torres for appropriating the title of a movie she's in and giving it to Stephanie Frye, who, as we know, turns out to be unworthy of having anything in common with Gina Torres. _

_** Carl Jenkins in "Starship Troopers" was played by Nathan's friend and "Dr. Horrible" co-star, the adorable Neil Patrick Harris. _

_Also I should note, with due apologies to both Castle and Beckett, that I haven't actually seen "Forbidden Planet" so any references and comments about it are guesses taken from its IMDB page and any inaccuracies in that regard are entirely my fault. And while I have seen "Starship Troopers," my memories of it are distinctly fuzzy so again, excuse any inaccuracies. _


	16. Chapter 16

Author's Note: The first of 4 chapters based on 2x22 "Food to Die For," which will, incidentally, be the last episode "adaptation" in this fic as we're getting into the home stretch, so to speak. Expect familiar dialogue ahead. And also, a note on the timeline of this fic—for the purposes of this fic, Kate's apartment exploded around March 20; she has now been staying at the loft for a little over five weeks, which makes it the end of April right now, so I changed Alexis's AP test to a regular test for school because, as weird as Alexis's school appears to be, AP tests are nationally administered at the same time and in 2010, the AP chemistry test was in the second week of May, so it's too early for it in this fic's timeline. (Yes, I looked it up because I'm obsessive that way, although I am sort of assuming no one else really cares.) Now that that's out of the way, enjoy!

* * *

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 16_

The sound of glass shattering had Kate finishing her descent of the loft staircase at a run.

"Alexis? What happened?"

Alexis looked up from where she was kneeling on the ground. "Morning, Kate. I just dropped a glass, that's all."

Kate opened her mouth to respond but before she could, they heard the sound of quick footsteps and Castle almost burst from the door leading to his office and to his bedroom.

"Alexis! You okay? Did something break?"

Kate's brain momentarily blanked as she stared. He—he hadn't finished buttoning his shirt, had only buttoned a couple at the top and his rush from his room had left the two halves of his shirt flapping open, revealing a strip of his bare chest and stomach. And oh… oh god… Kate's mouth went dry, her eyes fixated on the enticing strip of skin that allowed her to see just a hint of the definition of his pectorals, the faint trace of muscle bisecting his flat stomach.

The vague thought flitted across her fuzzy mind that Castle should be prohibited by law from wearing shirts. Ever. Or not, since such a thing would probably cause riots among the female half of Manhattan. She would simply have to forbid him from wearing shirts when he was in the loft. Yes, that was much better. No one else but her to see him.

The sound of Alexis's voice broke through Kate's daze as she answered, "It's fine, Dad. This stupid glass just broke, that's all."

Kate yanked her mind out of the gutter where it had taken up residence, the reminder that Alexis—his _daughter_—was right there acting like a bucketful of ice water being dumped on her.

"Remind me to get smarter glasses," he quipped as he—thankfully, she told herself—finished buttoning up his shirt as he came closer and knelt by Alexis's side, using a wet paper towel to help her clean up the smaller shards while Alexis gingerly picked up the larger broken pieces.

Alexis didn't smile at his joke and he fixed his eyes on her. "Something tells me this is not about the glass. What's wrong, pumpkin?"

Alexis huffed as she stood to throw away the broken pieces of glass she'd picked up. "I got invited to the Hamptons with Lacey's family and a couple other friends."

"That sounds like fun. So why do you look like someone who just got voted off the island?" Castle asked as he too threw out the paper towel with shards of glass wrapped inside it.

Kate made a last sweep of the floor with a paper towel to find and clean up any last remaining shards of glass.

Alexis grimaced as she turned back to them. "I have a huge chemistry test next week that's going to be worth 60% of my grade so I really need to study all weekend. But I really wanna go to the Hamptons."

"The eternal struggle between work and play," Castle commented. "The trick is, when you grow up, find work that feels like play."

Kate snorted a laugh. "Wow, Castle, that was really unhelpful."

Alexis frowned at Castle. "Yeah, really, Dad." Alexis turned to Kate. "Kate, what do you think I should do?"

Caught off guard at this direct appeal, Kate blinked and glanced at Castle.

He—unhelpful mood that he was apparently in—only nodded at her slightly and made a face that said, _go ahead_.

Kate made a face at him before she turned back to Alexis. "Alexis, I… I can't tell you what to do."

"I know, Kate, but in your opinion, what should I do? What would you have done when you were in high school?"

Honestly, Kate would probably have gone to the Hamptons—but then Kate's friends hadn't been the house-in-the-Hamptons type either so this sort of trip hadn't really been an option for them. And Kate's parents wouldn't have permitted such a trip on the eve of a big test anyway.

But Castle wasn't the forbidding type of parent and Alexis was more mature and responsible than Kate had been at her age.

"I don't really know what I would have done; I don't think my parents would have even let me go under the circumstances so it's not a choice I would have needed to make," Kate finally answered slowly. "But Alexis, seriously, it's your decision to make. Do what you think is the right thing for you and I trust your judgment." Kate glanced at Castle, letting the side of her mouth that faced him curve upwards into a smirk as she added, "And if your dad of all people can be considered a competent adult for some reason—"

"Hey!" Castle protested with feigned indignation.

Alexis giggled a little, relaxing, and Kate finished with a slight smile. "Then you certainly qualify as being mature enough to make your own decisions since you're more mature than he is."

Alexis grinned, now looking more restored to her usual self as she threw her father a cheeky glance. "That's true."

Castle huffed. "It is too early in the morning to be insulting me."

"So it'll be okay to insult you later in the day?" Alexis riposted.

He made a face at her. "Ungrateful child."

Alexis only laughed at him. "I got it from you."

Kate grinned. "She's got you there, Castle. I've heard the way you talk to your mother." The affectionate sniping and feigned exasperation that characterized Castle's conversations to and about Martha had taken some getting used to but Kate understood that with Castle and Martha, it worked because the underlying love between the two of them was so strong, so well-understood by them both that it never even needed to be said.

He threw her a look of exaggerated shock. "I am a model of filial respect and affection!"

Kate and Alexis both laughed, Alexis reaching up to pat her father on the head in a deliberately condescending manner. "Sure you are, Dad," she said in the tone of someone indulging a crazy person with his delusions.

Castle pouted and Kate thought as warmth filled her chest that after all, she'd been wrong when she'd thought that Castle was dangerous but Alexis was safe. They were all dangerous—Castle, Alexis, and Martha too—because of how openly affectionate they were—what a _family_ they were. Dangerous because of how they'd so easily included her in their family circle. She hadn't even been thinking in terms of trying to protect her heart or preserve her distance from Alexis or Martha and now—now, she couldn't imagine not caring about them, couldn't imagine going through her days without Martha's stories and her exuberance and Alexis's laughter and lighthearted chatter and teenage confidences. She was a part of this family now, wasn't she? And Kate hadn't been a part of a family circle like theirs for more than ten years now.

And oh, she'd forgotten—or more accurately, never really allowed herself to think about—just how much she missed it, missed the family life that had been destroyed by her mother's death. Missed dinners with her mom and dad where they'd talked and laughed and teased each other, missed the leisurely Sundays when her mom had made brunch, laughingly scolding her dad for sneaking extra pieces of bacon. Missed the way she'd been able to lie in bed at night and listen to the sound of her parents' muffled conversation and laughter—and the way hearing her parents laugh like that, over something that she was not a part of, had made her feel so… safe, secure in the knowledge of her parents' love not just for her but for each other.

It was something she hadn't felt in the 11 years since that devastating January day, something Kate wasn't sure she would ever feel again, she realized, that sense of security that came from knowing, bone-deep, that she was loved unconditionally, that no matter what happened, she would always be able to depend on that love to be there for her. But then her mother had died and her father had lost himself in the bottle, had loved alcohol more than he loved her—or so it had seemed at the time, even though Kate knew it wasn't the case. Months and years of counseling had taught her that much. And as thankful as she was for her dad's recovery, for having her dad back, as much as she valued and even relied on his love now, that old unshakable confidence in her dad and his love was gone now.

It was that sense of security, that knowledge of the love that she had in her parents, that had allowed her to experiment so much during high school, she realized. It had made her brave. She remembered what her dad had told her of her mom's words—that she didn't let fear hold her back from something she wanted. No, the young Katie Beckett hadn't. But that young Katie had always felt safe; the young Katie had believed with all her blind, youthful confidence that her parents would always be there to pick her up if she fell down, would always be there to take care of her.

And then her mom had died. And the young Katie had grown up, become Kate—and Kate had never felt really safe again. Kate was not so brave; Kate was cautious, was fearful.

Watching Castle and Alexis now, as he captured Alexis in a teasing mock headlock, resting his chin on Alexis's hair, Kate was suddenly swamped with longing mingled in with something like jealousy for how… solid the Castle family was together, how unshakable the love between Castle and Alexis and Martha was that allowed them to tease each other so much. And Kate could only hope desperately that Alexis, at least, would always retain her certainty in Castle's love, that nothing would ever happen to damage Alexis's faith in her father.

"Whatever you decide to do about this weekend will be fine with me," Castle assured Alexis. "You know I trust you."

Alexis rolled her eyes as only a teenager could. "I know, Dad. That's not helping."

Castle gave an exaggerated sigh as he released Alexis. "I'm trying to be supportive!"

Alexis's expression softened and she rested her head against Castle's shoulder. "I know. I'm just grumpy, don't mind me."

"I do mind it. I like it best when you're smiling," he said, lifting his hands to Alexis's face, trying to coax her lips upwards so Alexis ducked her head away but not before an actual smile escaped.

"Ha! See, you're smiling," Castle crowed triumphantly. "Feel better now, pumpkin?"

Alexis stuck her tongue out at her dad. "Silly Dad. I need to pack up my stuff for school. I'll see you guys later."

"Have a good day, Alexis," Kate said.

Alexis gave Kate a quick smile before she ran lightly up the stairs. "You too, Kate. Bye, Dad."

Castle made a face at Alexis's retreating back before turning to Kate. "Come on, Beckett, after that, I'm feeling in desperate need of a coffee and a bear claw."

Kate rolled her eyes at his dramatic tone but had to smother a laugh as she went into his office to retrieve her gun and they both left the loft.

"What do you think Alexis will end up doing?" Kate asked on the way to their usual coffee shop.

"I don't know but if I had to guess, I think she'll end up going to the Hamptons and just bring her textbook with her. She's pretty good at that, finding a compromise between work and play."

"I can't imagine it'll be easy to study in the Hamptons while all her friends are at the beach."

"No," Castle agreed, "but if anyone can do it, it's Alexis." He paused and then added, "I know I've said this before but thanks for being so good with Alexis."

Kate lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Stop thanking me, Castle, I'm not nice to Alexis because of you. I care about her too." _Too._ Kate's brain belatedly caught up to her tongue and what she'd just let slip. She knew Castle too well to think that he wouldn't notice.

There was a momentary pause but then for probably the first time in Castle's entire life, he evidently decided that discretion was the better part of valor—okay, that wasn't fair of her, she did know that Castle wasn't quite as thoughtless as he occasionally seemed and as he sometimes acted—and his response was only, "Still, I appreciate it. It was good that you didn't tell Alexis what to do. I try not to tell Alexis what to do. In fairness, I've almost never needed to since she's set her own rules since about the time she turned 10 or so and she's usually a lot stricter than I would ever be inclined to be. But it's also because if I really had my way, she'd probably never leave the house without a S.W.A.T. team of bodyguards surrounding her at all times. But I know I can't do that and I don't want to smother her. I want her to make her own decisions and I trust her."

"Says the man who called up Julliard to run a background check on his daughter's violin teacher," Kate reminded him.

Castle made a face. "That was a lapse but honestly, you've met Dylan now. You cannot tell me he's not way too good looking to be a violin prodigy!"

Kate had to laugh. "I don't think they judge someone's violin skills based on their looks and anyway, Castle, you're the one who was just telling me that you trust Alexis."

"I trust Alexis; it's everyone else in the world I don't trust," he grumbled. "And I certainly don't trust young, good-looking boys around Alexis."

"Castle, you don't honestly think that Alexis would have picked a violin teacher based on his looks or that she'd let anything inappropriate happen between her and Dylan; she's serious about her violin."

He grimaced. "I'm the father of a teenage daughter; logic really doesn't have a big role in my fears when it comes to Alexis and boys."

"Fair point," Kate conceded. "Just remember that you do trust Alexis and she'll never learn to take care of herself when it comes to boys or anything else if you're constantly hovering."

"I know, I know. That's why I try so hard not to interfere when it comes to Alexis's social life." He sighed. "It was so much easier when she was little and her social life mostly consisted of tea parties with her dolls and me."

Kate laughed. "You had tea parties with Alexis and her dolls?" (And wasn't that a priceless and adorable mental picture? She would pay money to see that.)

Castle gave her a look of feigned affront. "I'll have you know that I probably attended more tea parties while Alexis was little than you've attended NYPD department meetings in your entire career. I am a professional tea party guest."

She smirked at him. "Yeah, you might not want to announce that fact where anyone else can hear it. Espo and Ryan will never let you live it down."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Don't you dare tell them."

"Yeah? What'll you give me to make it worth my while to keep your secret?"

"Coffee and a bear claw," he answered promptly.

She laughed. "Doesn't count. You bring me coffee every day and a bear claw most days anyway." (He did, she thought with an odd sense of surprise. It had become possibly the most predictable thing about her work-day, had become a daily ritual, and she expected it, relied on it now. The sun rose in the east and every morning she was on duty, Rick Castle brought her coffee.)

"A full set of autographed Richard Castle first editions?" he suggested.

She scoffed. "That's a gift to your own ego, not to me, try again."

They went back and forth as they picked up their usual coffees with him tossing out increasingly ridiculous suggestions of things he could get her, ranging from a dog to a pony to her very own ranch out in the West to a spaceship to a deserted tropical island, and she sternly bit back her laughter as she shot down his ideas.

It was ridiculous and silly; they both knew that she had only been teasing when she'd threatened to tell the boys about his tea parties with Alexis. But he had that childish teasing glee in his voice and in his eyes as he made his suggestions and she liked seeing it, liked knowing that he was enjoying himself, so she indulged him—and, yes, herself too. (Having him around brought out the more lighthearted side of her that had been mostly buried for so long now—the Kate Beckett of a year ago who'd just met Castle and couldn't wait to get rid of him would have scorned the very idea of it but it was true. A year ago, she would never have imagined conspiring with the boys and Bomb Disposal to rig up the coffee machine to prank anyone—a prank! She hadn't pulled a prank on anyone in more than ten years, since high school, but then Castle had got himself cursed by a mummy and, well, she hadn't been able to resist. She'd admitted to him that having him around made things more fun; what she hadn't quite thought was that having him around had changed _her_, had made her more open to fun and to teasing and to laughter, had brought out a side of her that had been mostly dormant since her mom's death.)

He was still throwing out random suggestions as they walked into the precinct.

"Ooh, I know! A pound of flesh!"

She threw him a look. "Do I look like Shylock to you, Castle? I think I'm insulted."

He pouted. "And you're sure you really don't want a pony, Beckett?"

She threw him a grin. "I'm having a hard enough time finding an apartment for me; I really don't think I need to add finding a stable to keep this hypothetical pony in to my to-do list."

He opened his mouth to respond but then closed it again, an expression she couldn't read crossing his face, but before she could even begin to wonder about it, her phone rang. "Beckett."

And just like that, they had a new case.

Kate was a little surprised (and a lot amused) to discover that Espo apparently watched _Kitchen Wars_ as he knew about their victim, Balthazar Wolf. (That Castle watched _Kitchen Wars_ was about as surprising as water being wet.)

What really surprised Kate was the identity of Q3's owner when she and Castle left the kitchen and Kate saw her. She knew that profile, even if she hadn't seen it in more than ten years. "Madison?"

"Becks? What are you doing here?"

Kate was peripherally aware of Castle turning to stare at her, mouthing "Becks?" but she ignored him. "I'm a homicide detective," she answered Maddy's question.

"Shut the front door!" Maddy exclaimed. "What a messed-up way for us to reconnect."

"I know, right?" Kate agreed as she hugged Maddy, still reeling a little from the surprise. Wow, a restaurant owner and of a place like Q3. Kate vaguely remembered that Maddy's parents had worked in something involving food—what had it been?—but even so, Q3 was a big venture.

Kate drew back and introduced Maddy to Castle.

Maddy turned to Castle with a smile. "Hi."

Kate stiffened a little. Oh. She might not have seen Madison in more than ten years but she hadn't been such close friends with Maddy in high school for four years without learning some of Maddy's tells around cute boys and she recognized them now. Maddy's voice had changed, become somewhat breathy on the greeting, as Maddy's eyelashes lowered and then lifted again as she smiled up at Castle.

Castle shook Maddy's hand. "Hi. Please call me Rick." Kate didn't even need to look at Castle to be able to picture the charming smile on his face; she could hear the note of interest in his voice. Knew the spark of intrigue, of attraction, that would have lit up his eyes.

Kate had the sudden ridiculous urge to address Castle as Rick herself—which was stupid since she never called Castle by his first name. But seeing the way Maddy had reacted to him—and because today he was wearing a bright royal blue shirt that emphasized and echoed the color of his eyes—Kate had the sudden thought that Maddy and Castle would almost certainly hit it off. Maddy was certainly Castle's type, blonde, gorgeous, fun, smart, outgoing. And Castle—Kate was relatively certain that Castle was the type to appeal to every woman who still had a pulse.

Kate immediately imagined what it would be like if Maddy and Castle started dating—and felt like a giant hand had reached in and grabbed her heart and was squeezing her heart in its fist. It was worse than it had been with Ellie Monroe a couple weeks ago because with Ellie, she'd always known that even if anything happened, it would have been a casual fling. (And she hadn't cared as much about Castle even a couple weeks ago as she did now. Lanie had been right; staying with Castle, seeing him every day, talking to him every day, having him make her laugh every day, her feelings had only gotten deeper, couldn't help but have strengthened…) And Maddy—well, Maddy lived in the City, was the type of woman that would appeal to Castle, and Kate didn't believe for a second that Castle would have a casual fling with someone whom he knew had been one of her old high school friends. (And from what Kate remembered of Maddy, Kate doubted that Maddy would be into casual flings.) No, if Castle and Maddy started dating, they would make a go of it.

And she didn't want to see it.

Oh god, she was being positively dog-in-the-manger-ish about Castle; she had already decided that she didn't want to risk her friendship with Castle. She had no claim on him, so why should she care if he decided to start dating Maddy? Maddy was great; Kate liked Maddy a lot, even after so many years. She should be pleased that Castle might actually date someone as nice as Maddy was.

Should be—except she still wanted Castle herself, a voice in her head spoke up. She did want Castle for herself—the idea of Castle really dating someone, anyone else, _hurt_. A lot. The idea that Castle would spend his evenings (and his nights) with someone else, that he would give his smiles—the soft ones that brightened his eyes and made her feel as if the sun had focused its warmth solely on her or the teasing ones that lifted her heart and brightened her days—to some other woman. (When had she started feeling so possessive about Castle's smiles?)

Oh god, she _couldn't_ just be his friend and watch him date someone else. Anyone else. She couldn't just be his friend at all, could she?

"How do you two know each other?" Castle asked Maddy, his tone curious, eager, intrigued.

"High school, 9th grade French," Maddy answered with a little laugh.

Castle's interested gaze swung to Kate and she managed a smile and nodded in confirmation, remembering how she'd helped Alexis study for her French test a couple weeks ago and the way she'd occasionally helped Alexis with her French homework in the weeks since then. She saw the smile lines bracketing his mouth deepen slightly and Kate was suddenly, irrationally sure that he was thinking of the exact same thing.

"I can't believe the biggest scoff-law at Stuy became a cop," Maddy commented laughingly.

Kate forced a small laugh even as she abruptly heard Castle's voice in her head from back when they'd first met. _Most smart, good-looking women become lawyers, not cops. That tells me something happened. _And realized, too, with a sudden, sharp twist of emotion, what she hadn't realized in her initial surprise at seeing Madison again, that Maddy had no idea what had happened to Kate's mom. _Oh…_

Kate felt Castle's quick look and the sudden warmth along her side as he shifted almost imperceptibly closer to her and knew he'd recognized the falsity of her laugh—of course he would. (_Oh Castle…_) She forcibly pushed aside all inconvenient emotion. She was on the job, had a new case. She couldn't do this now and switched to work mode, starting to ask Maddy the usual questions about Wolf, his recent behavior as well as the information about the other restaurant staff—and for Maddy's alibi. Kate grimaced a little. Running into old friends during a case was awkward.

Kate and Castle waited as Maddy looked up the info on Wolf's next of kin and Kate felt Castle turn to look at her. There was some lingering concern in his look but, predictably, he asked the question that would distract her from emotion, would put her more at ease.

"High school friend, huh? I bet she knows where all your bodies are buried." He paused and then added with a smirk, "She probably knows the stories about you as a teenager that even your dad doesn't know, all the crazy stuff you got up to that you never told your parents about. Am I right, _Becks_?" he asked, teasingly emphasizing her high school nickname.

Kate smirked at him, even as she felt the oddest little frisson go through her at the sound of Castle calling her by her high school nickname and for a fleeting moment, she wondered what it would have been like if she'd met Castle back then. She didn't doubt that she would have liked him, with his roguish bad-boy charm and good looks, could easily imagine what he must have looked like in his 20's—oh yes, she would have liked him. And back then, before her mom had been killed, before Kate had built up her walls, she would have fallen for him so easily, could have been with him with nothing holding her back. Unlike now.

But then she blinked and returned to reality and the present, mentally shaking herself for her uncharacteristically maudlin thoughts. She tried never to regret things she couldn't help; that way led to spiraling down way too many rabbit holes as it made her start pondering every what-if about her mom's death.

"You can dig all you want, Castle. My secrets are safe with her."

He raised his eyebrows a little, his curiosity sparked, as always, by any reference to secrets, her secrets in particular. "How can you be sure?" he murmured.

Kate narrowed her eyes at him, even as she felt the undeniable tug deep inside her. He'd lowered his voice a little, dropped it into that rather teasing, husky murmur and the sound of his voice skittered along her nerve endings. She decided, again, that his voice—and the effect it had on her—should really be illegal. She fought to regain coherence and remember what he'd asked. "Because whatever she knows about me, I know worse about her."

Kate glanced over at Maddy again, her lips curving into a small, reminiscent smile, memories crowding into her mind. "We used to hang out, big group of us, had a good time." She remembered going over to friends' houses for sleepovers during which she, Maddy, and their other friends, Hannah, Lizzy, Jen, and Chrissy had talked and giggled about boys; remembered telling her parents she had a study group and going to a concert for some rock band instead; remembered staying out past her curfew and getting caught by her parents as she attempted to sneak back into her family's apartment. She felt a sharp poignant pang at the memories, at how happy she had been back then, at how much fun she'd had.

"And what's a good time?" Castle asked, still using that damn husky tone.

Kate let herself lean in slightly closer to him, her voice automatically lowering, becoming huskier to sort of match his, knowing even as she did so that she really shouldn't be letting herself fall into this teasing, flirtatious banter with Castle so easily, but right now, at this moment, she couldn't resist. (And in some corner of her mind, she couldn't help but think that Maddy would see, would notice.) "Well, if you don't know by now, I'm sure it's too late to show you one."

His eyes flared, his gaze briefly dropping down to her lips, even as his smile deepened into a smirk and he opened his mouth, no doubt to make some flirtatious teasing response—and then Maddy rejoined them and Kate took a hurried step back, abruptly remembering their surroundings, at a crime scene, and that they had an active case.

She caught Maddy's quick glance between her and Castle as she handed over the info on Wolf's next of kin. (Yes, Maddy had seen and Kate was suddenly a little ashamed of herself. For even thinking of claiming Castle as hers in front of Maddy when he wasn't—but she wanted him to be.)

They went back to the precinct and fell into the usual work mode, running down the line chef while Kate put in the warrants for Wolf's financial info and only returned to Q3 later on that afternoon when they needed to find out the identify of Wolf's "angry girlfriend" from Q3's reservation book.

Kate briefly let herself slip out of Detective mode to give Maddy a sympathetic look. "How are you holding up?"

Maddy made a small face. "I'm still reeling and I have no time to grieve. Wolf was a friend but, like it or not, I have to interview replacement chefs. I still haven't found that customer slip for that cake Wolf was making, and I have this charity event tomorrow night at Rocco DiSpirito's. If I don't show up, people will think Wolf's death means the death of Q3."

Kate blinked, a little surprised in spite of herself to hear Madison sounding so… practical and business-like. She, of all people, knew better than anyone how long it had been since their high school days but it was still a little hard to fit her memories of Maddy—fun-loving, mischievous, impulsive Maddy—with this professional businesswoman Madison.

"Hey, maybe you should come with me," Maddy suggested, her tone changing, becoming brighter, more like the girl Kate remembered. "I could use the moral support and maybe we can catch up on old times."

Kate had to smile even as she hesitated a little. "Oh. I don't usually—" she began. She almost never took a night off in the middle of an active case, could never be quite sure when evidence would come in.

"You should go, Beckett," Castle interrupted her. "The boys can handle it for one night and you know they'll text you with any updates." He smirked. "Besides, I've been dying to try out Rocco's new place so you should go and then you can tell me all about it."

Kate suppressed a laugh at the presumption of this so-Castle-like suggestion. "Wow, Castle," she drawled. "A vaunted writer like yourself relying on a lowly cop for a description. I'll be put on my mettle to describe the food well enough for your vicarious, gustatory satisfaction."

"Your vocabulary is so sexy," Castle responded unthinkingly.

Kate felt herself flush, her heart fluttering, even as her eyes flared. "Castle!" she hissed. She couldn't believe he'd blurted something like that out in front of someone else, in front of Maddy. (And if she'd been worried that Castle and Maddy might start dating, Castle's lack of a filter had just effectively killed any possibility of that.)

The sound of Maddy's laugh drew both their gazes back to her as she glanced between the two of them, an assessing smirk on her lips, and Kate felt her blush deepening.

"So, is that a yes?" Maddy asked.

Kate relented. "Yeah, sure, that sounds great. And it would be good to get a chance to catch up."

Maddy grinned. "Great. The event starts at 8 so why don't we meet here around 7:30 and we can go over together?"

Kate smiled. "That works for me. I'll see you then."

Maddy found the name in the reservation book and Kate, somewhat belatedly, remembered that she didn't actually have any wearable dresses anymore. The clothes she'd replaced and made a point of getting dry-cleaned first had been work clothes and a few casual clothes for working out and for her off-days. But she hadn't exactly been expecting to have any formal evening events to go to so she hadn't bothered to replace any of her dresses or get the surviving ones cleaned yet.

She inwardly grimaced. Well, she knew what she'd be doing tonight, throwing herself on Lanie's mercy to accompany her shopping for a dress.

_~To be continued…~_


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note: The second chapter based on "Food to Die For," so again, there'll be some familiar dialogue ahead, including what I'm sure is everyone's favorite line from this episode.

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 17_

Kate paused as she finished zipping up the new dress she'd bought yesterday while out with Lanie. Footsteps were stomping up the stairs and down the hall. Stomping?

Kate opened the door of her room and peered out. "Alexis? What's wrong?"

The girl looked up, her expression resembling a thunder-cloud, surprising Kate since for the most part, Alexis was usually remarkably even-tempered and cheerful, entirely unlike every other teenager Kate had ever known, including her own self. Alexis made a face, giving an exasperated huff. "Oh, Kate. Don't mind me. It's just Dad, that's all."

Kate inwardly frowned a little at the edge in Alexis's voice as she referred to Castle; she'd never heard Alexis sound like that when she talked about Castle. Alexis was the only teenager Kate had ever met who not only didn't appear disdainful of her parent but was still openly affectionate. Kate opened the door of her room wider, ushering Alexis inside. "Here, come in. What did he do?"

Alexis sat down heavily onto Kate's bed, belatedly seeming to notice what Kate was wearing and her expression cleared, her eyes widening a little. "Oh, wow, Kate, you look really great."

Kate smiled. "Thanks, Alexis. Now tell me what stupid thing did your dad do now?"

Alexis grimaced. "Oh, you know what Dad's like. He just can't take anything seriously! I was telling him and Gram how I found out that I need to study slides for my chem test on Monday and how am I possibly supposed to take a microscope with me to the Hamptons, even if I could bring a textbook? And his response was to say that he planned to use the liquid nitrogen to create a weather machine to make it rain so my friends will cancel their plans for this weekend."

Kate bit her lip to hold back a laugh but a little snicker escaped in spite of herself. It was such a Castle thing to say. She sternly schooled her expression back to sobriety as Alexis made a face at her as if to say, _it's not funny_. "I'm sorry, Alexis," Kate apologized. "But you know," she began mildly, "your dad didn't mean to make it sound like he doesn't care or doesn't know that this is serious. He takes everything to do with you seriously."

Alexis sighed. "Yeah, I know. He's just… so annoying sometimes when he's being all silly and I'm not in the mood to deal with it right now."

Kate bit back another smile. Oh, she knew how that could be. "Your dad knows that this is bothering you and I think part of the issue is that your dad has so much faith in you that he believes that whatever you decide to do about this weekend will be the right thing. And I think that it's because he trusts you so much that he doesn't realize that while you're still trying to make your decision, it's going to be hard on you and stressful because sometimes, even most of the times, we aren't nearly as confident in ourselves as other people are." She gave Alexis an understanding little smile. "I don't know about you but I hate it when I can't make up my mind about something; it makes me really grumpy."

A small smile escaped Alexis. "Me too."

"I know it's hard but remember that it's only because your dad trusts you so much and he believes you're capable of making your own decisions."

Alexis grimaced. "It'd be easier if someone else could just make the decision for me."

"I know, Alexis, but you're old enough now and mature enough to make your own decisions."

Alexis sighed and then managed a faint smile. "Thanks, Kate. I should let you finish getting ready."

Kate returned Alexis's smile. "Anytime, Alexis, you know that."

"Have fun tonight, Kate," Alexis said as she disappeared into her own room with a last smile and a small wave.

Once alone, Kate finished getting ready relatively quickly, pinning her hair up and putting on more makeup. The last thing she did was to slip off the necklace with her mother's ring on it; the neckline of her dress didn't allow her to wear it.

Kate gave herself a last quick survey in the mirror, deciding she was rather pleased with her appearance tonight. For a last-minute acquisition, the dark purple dress had been a lucky find, fitted just enough to smoothly outline her figure.

Satisfied that she was presentable, she slipped on her wrap, picked up the new clutch purse she had also bought along with the dress (since the clutch she'd owned before had been another casualty of the explosion), and went downstairs.

Martha looked up and smiled, putting down the glass of wine she'd been holding. "Oh, Katherine darling, don't you look gorgeous."

Kate smiled at Martha. "Thank you, Martha."

The sound of a clatter had both Kate and Martha looking over to where Castle was standing at the counter in an apron and safety gloves. He looked almost as frozen in place as if someone had dumped liquid nitrogen on him as he stared at Kate, his mouth open. It looked as if he'd just picked up his watch to check on the time but as Kate met his eyes, the watch slipped from Castle's suddenly nerveless grasp and fell into the liquid nitrogen, making Kate wince a little. She knew Castle too well not to know that his watch must have been expensive. But Castle didn't blink or react in any way and Kate had the sudden impression that he hadn't even registered it happening.

Kate felt herself blush hotly, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest, at the way Castle was staring at her. The way he looked at her—she suddenly found it hard to breathe. He stared at her and made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

It was… amazing and thrilling and powerful and humbling to see that she could have this effect on him, that she could make him forget about his surroundings, make him lose his train of thought so completely.

She had wondered, hadn't been able to help wondering, as she looked for a dress yesterday what Castle would think of every item. It had rather annoyed her since Kate had never before put much thought into a man's opinion of her appearance or her clothes; she knew what she liked to wear and had enough confidence in her own looks not to worry about what she wore overly much, secure in the belief that she could, if she wanted to, draw the eyes and the attention of almost any man. She had been a model for a short time, learned some of the tricks of the trade, had done her time in Vice and been subjected to more than her fair share of wolf whistles and leers. And in all that time, she'd never actively chosen her clothes based on what a man would think—but then in shopping yesterday, with every dress she looked at, she'd found herself wondering if Castle would like it.

Now she knew. He most definitely liked her in this dress.

"Close your mouth, Richard," Martha spoke up dryly. "You'll catch flies."

Castle blinked and visibly tried to grasp for coherence. "Beckett," he finally managed to say, his voice sounding unlike himself, "you… uh… look nice."

Kate flushed, feeling hot and… and… swoony was the only word that came to mind, her knees suddenly feeling less than solid beneath her. Oh. Oh damn. (She was Detective Kate Beckett; she _didn't_ swoon over anyone. Except for Castle, apparently.) It was ridiculous, to be reacting so strongly to what was, really, the lamest possible compliment, and from a writer no less… And this was Richard Castle, man about town, celebrity, self-professed playboy, with his stock of wit and charm and compliments—the man who'd told her she had gorgeous eyes when she'd dragged him out of his launch party and into an interrogation room in the precinct to question him about multiple murders. She would never have imagined that that man—the smug jackass whose comment on the picture of Alison Tisdale had been that she was cute, as if her looks mattered more than the fact that she'd been murdered—could ever be rendered so speechless, could lose all sign of the debonair, charming flirt. She could have—and had—resisted that man—but _this_ Castle, this man who looked at her as if she were the only woman in the world, who said she was extraordinary and meant it, who paid her lame compliments, stripped of all smooth charm and left only with sincerity… This man she'd gotten to know so well—this man was irresistible.

Oh god oh god, she really was falling for Rick Castle. And she knew that friendship, as safe as it was, would never be enough for her. She wanted him too much, cared about him too much.

She felt a flare of panic and, as always, fell back on work. "I'm… uh… going to stop off at the precinct, check in with the guys," she quickly said.

It was a lame excuse since she could just as easily call or text the guys to check in but he didn't say that. He blinked but then seemed to mentally shake himself. "Oh, okay. Did you think of something new?"

Kate grasped at the idea. "Yes." Wait. _Why_ had she said that? Damn it, something new. New? At the moment, the only thing running through her head was him—_Castle. Rick. Richard Castle. Castle._ (Damn it, Kate Beckett, get a grip!) Something new. What was there… Oh. Oh wait. Ironically, the realization that she was falling, fast and hard, for Castle brought to mind the most recent time a man had been interested in her, the man she'd turned down because of Castle. Demming. Robbery. A missing backpack full of cash. "I was thinking about that backpack full of cash that Wolf had."

"Ooh, right. What on earth was he into that he needed to have so much cash on hand so quickly?"

"And what happened to the backpack?" Kate posed the rhetorical question.

His eyes met hers and she knew he'd followed her reasoning. "Robbery," was all he said.

Yeah, he'd definitely followed her reasoning, such as it was. She tamped down on the renegade thrill that went through her. As closely as she'd worked with Espo and Ryan for years now, she'd never developed the same sort of professional rapport in deduction with either of them. For that matter, in her entire life, she'd never met anyone who so quickly and so easily could follow her train of thought, the insights that occasionally had her mind making intuitive leaps of logic. For all of Castle's outlandish theories, when he focused on the evidence, their minds were in sync. Somehow, amazingly, they did make a good team, their minds working in tandem. She loved the way they worked together…

She smiled at him. "Exactly. I'm going to ask the boys to check in with Robbery, send out some feelers and see if anyone might have heard anything, knows anything about Wolf's financial situation."

"Good thinking."

She tossed him a smirk. "Thanks. I thought it was clever of me too."

That made him laugh out loud and she was suddenly, ridiculously, pleased with herself for making him laugh. He was the funny one and she was the serious one but she had made him laugh. And she abruptly found herself wondering, with a little pang, if he really enjoyed her company as much as she did his, even spending so much time together in these weeks while she stayed at the loft. She knew him too well to think that he would ever indicate as much to her—he was too nice a person for that and it wasn't as if he didn't know she hadn't managed to find another apartment yet—but did he ever wish that he could spend less time with her? She wasn't very… fun…

"You two really seem to be able to read each other's minds sometimes." Martha's voice abruptly recalled Kate to the woman's presence, which Kate had entirely forgotten about. (Kate flushed with some embarrassment. Even being able to forget so completely about the presence of a woman who was so vibrant, so exuberant, was revealing.) "Are you always like this at the precinct?"

Kate gave Martha a small, rather apologetic smile. "Sorry, Martha. I tend to have a single-track mind when I get focused on a case."

Martha waved a hand. "Think nothing of it, darling. I'm used to it with Richard who's constantly getting distracted and going off into some place in his scary mind when he gets an idea for a story."

"Says the woman whose idea of conversation the day before a performance is only to repeat lines of dialogue, no matter what anyone else says to you," Castle shot back immediately.

"It's preparation, Richard, and immersing oneself into the role as all good actors must do," Martha returned. "Which you would know if you had any acting talent of your own."

Castle made a face at his mother. "My artistic talents lie in writing, as you well know, and you shouldn't talk since it's my talents that are funding your wardrobe."

Martha waved a dismissive hand. "Piffle, Richard. I paid to clothe and feed you for the first 21 years of your life; I think it's only fair you should support me now."

Castle gave an exaggerated beleaguered sigh, making a face in Kate's direction that said, _can you believe what I have to put up with?_ "Yes, mother," he said with feigned dutifulness. "Now isn't it about time you go and bother Chet? I think you've met your quota of annoying me for the day."

"Nonsense, Richard. I'm your mother; there's no quota on how much a mother is allowed to annoy her son. Isn't that right, Katherine?"

Kate grinned at Castle. "I think that's exactly right."

Castle grimaced. "Beckett, didn't you want to go to the precinct and bother the boys? And Mother, I'm sure Chet is missing you by now."

Kate laughed and waved as she left. "I'm going, I'm going. See you later, Castle, Martha."

Martha waved back. "Have a good time with your old friend, Katherine."

Kate duly went to the precinct, ignoring the curious and frankly stunned looks of some of the uniforms downstairs before she made her way up to Homicide.

She heard someone give a long wolf-whistle and Kate turned, fully intending to incinerate the creep with a glare and possibly threaten him with a shooting, only to stop as she realized it had been Esposito, who was grinning at her as he deliberately looked her up and down, taking in her appearance from her heels to her new dress and her makeup and her pinned-up hair. "Lookin' good, Beckett," he drawled.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Shut up, Esposito."

"Hey, Beckett, when did Montgomery change the dress code around here?" Ryan interjected.

Kate turned to smirk at Ryan. "Why, did you forget all your dresses at home, Ryan?" she shot back immediately and Espo hooted with laughter as Ryan protested.

Kate grinned, relaxing. Oh, her boys.

"Anyway," she said with some emphasis and saw them both immediately sober, recognizing her tone, snapping back into work mode, as she'd known they would. "I had a thought about that missing backpack full of cash. Try checking in with someone down at Robbery, see if anyone might have heard anything about Wolf or why Wolf would have needed so much money. Needing that much cash in such a hurry and then carrying it around with him usually means trouble of some kind."

Espo nodded crisply as Ryan jotted down a note. "On it."

"And text me if anything comes up," Kate added.

"Course," Ryan agreed easily.

At that moment, they heard the elevator ding and all three looked up since it was after hours and quiet so there shouldn't have been people coming and going.

"Madison?" Kate blurted out. "What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at Q3."

Maddy looked over and smiled, crossing through the bullpen. Maddy looked great, Kate noted, wearing a red dress under a matching jacket, as Kate had been expecting. She'd remembered that red had always been Maddy's favorite color so when she'd been looking for dresses, she'd made a point of avoiding red so she and Maddy wouldn't end up wearing the same color. "Becks, hi. I didn't know you'd be here. I just wanted to stop by and drop this off," she said, holding out a basket that, predictably, both Espo and Ryan immediately pounced on. "My way of saying thank you for everything you guys are doing."

Kate blinked, suddenly remembering that Maddy had always been good at this sort of thing, had never failed to send thank you notes after receiving gifts. Maddy's mom had, Kate remembered now, been a food critic for one of the city magazines, and had been trained in the etiquette of saying thank you, the little courtesies that greased the wheels, so to speak, of the way things were done, the way restaurants had expressed their thanks for positive reviews and other things. And Maddy's mom had trained Maddy up the same way, as well as training Maddy to have a discerning palate when it came to food. It had been one way in which Maddy had been different in high school; oh, Maddy had eaten the pizza and junk food diet that other high schoolers did but she, more than anyone else, had appreciated fine dining too and been to more nice restaurants, accompanying her parents. "Oh, well, it's our job, but thanks."

"Yeah, thanks," Espo said rather gruffly, pausing in his looking through the basket's goodies to spare Maddy a quick look.

"Thank you," Ryan chimed in, smiling at Maddy, before he glanced at Kate. "Hey, Beckett, there are oatmeal cookies."

Kate turned immediately, almost snatching at the packet of cookies Ryan was teasingly holding up. "I love oatmeal cookies!" she exclaimed.

Maddy laughed even as she raised her eyebrows at Kate. "Chocolate chip used to be your favorite, Becks."

Kate grinned, deliberately depositing the oatmeal cookies into her desk drawer for safe keeping. She and Castle could eat them tomorrow. "I love them both."

Maddy grinned. "Well, I'm glad. So, Becks, do you want to get going? If we're both here, we may as well just cab over to Rocco's now."

"Sounds good," Kate agreed, glancing back at the boys as she and Maddy turned to leave. "Don't forget to text me with any new info."

Ryan flapped a hand at her as Espo rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, we can take care of things. Go away, Beckett, and have fun. Thanks again for the goodies, Madison," he added with those manners that Kate always thought must make Ryan's parents and his big sisters so proud of him.

Maddy linked arms with Kate in a move reminiscent of high school as she looked them both over. "Hey, we both look great, don't we, Becks? And we've gotten so much better at putting on makeup than we were that time over at Chrissy's house in 9th grade, remember?"

Kate had to laugh at the memory. "Oh god, as if I could forget!" She, Maddy, and their circle of friends had had a sleepover at their friend Chrissy's house and proceeded to try on all of Chrissy's mom's and older sister's makeup until by the end of the evening, they had all looked rather like under-age hookers who had put on their makeup while drunk (or high).

They spent the relatively short cab ride over to Rocco DiSpirito's laughing over old high school memories, some of which Kate had forgotten about since it had been so long since Kate had thought about those times.

Once they got to Rocco's, Kate was a little surprised, foolishly she supposed, at how many people Maddy knew. Maddy was in her element really, smiling and waving and exchanging lively greetings with people she saw. Almost everyone expressed their condolences about Wolf and Maddy parried any questions about Q3's future with half-answers that made it sound as if Maddy already had some exciting new chef on the line to take over.

Maddy really was good at this, Kate thought, and couldn't help but be reminded of Castle when he was in his publicity mode. (Which wasn't at all surprising. Everything seemed to remind her of Castle in some way these days, even if it was only to wonder what he would think about something. He had, somehow, woven himself into her life, her consciousness, so there was no way to avoid thinking about him.) This went beyond that because Maddy really did remind her of Castle right now. Maddy and Castle were both good with people, both outgoing and friendly, but the similarity went beyond the social ease they both had. And Kate couldn't help but respect it; she was confident in her own abilities but she knew her limits and she wasn't, would probably never be, at ease when dealing with large crowds of people, certainly wasn't very comfortable with small talk. It was out of her comfort zone to idly chat with people she barely knew, if at all, and years of interrogating people had made her even less good at idle chat. She certainly didn't have Castle's easy charm; she could flirt with the best of them when she wanted to but Castle's charm went beyond flirting to being genuinely interested in people, in their lives and their stories. No doubt it came with being a writer but either way, Castle liked people and people inevitably sensed that, responded to it.

Watching Maddy now, Kate saw that Maddy and Castle had both developed a skill at answering questions congenially and with apparent candor but without actually revealing much. (Kate had watched enough of Castle's promotional interviews on TV and read enough of his print interviews over the last few years to know that—she could just picture his smirk if he ever found out how she'd used to tape his TV appearances).

"You're really good at all this meet-and-greet stuff," Kate commented to Maddy when they were momentarily alone.

Maddy laughed a little. "It comes with practice and you know I like meeting new people."

"You remind me of Castle," Kate found herself blurting out. "He's really good with people too."

Maddy raised an eyebrow at Kate, a smirk tugging up one corner of her mouth. "Anything else he's really good at?"

Her tone and her look made the salacious implications in the question clear and Kate felt herself blush hotly. Oh yeah, she just knew there were other things Castle would be really good at—intimate things, bone-melting things, things that would make her forget her own name.

Thankfully, Maddy's attention was called away by someone else, giving Kate a moment to try to clear her mind of all the distracting—and arousing—mental images of Castle proving the other things he was really good at with his hands and his mouth and his… _No, no, stop it, Kate!_

Kate forcefully shoved the images of Castle out of her mind, instead distracting herself by running through all that they'd found out about Wolf over the last couple days and what else they needed to discover, organizing a mental murder board in her head.

It worked—she could almost always lose herself in her work—right up until the moment the socializing gradually ended as people started finding their way to their tables.

Kate wasn't surprised when Madison fixed her eyes on Kate almost the minute they were seated.

"So, you and Rick…" Maddy began.

Kate tried not to roll her eyes. 1 minute and 10 seconds, that was how long Maddy had waited before bringing up the subject of Castle after they'd found their table. Which meant that Maddy had held out for approximately 20 seconds longer than Kate had expected.

"There is no 'me and Rick,'" Kate answered automatically. "We're just friends and he shadows me as research for his books." But for the first time in the many times she'd insisted that nothing was going on between her and Castle, she felt like she was lying. And she really was, wasn't she? Had been lying, to herself and to everyone else, for the last few weeks because whatever else, she and Castle were not "just" friends, could not be "just" friends, not anymore.

Maddy raised her eyebrows, giving her a skeptical look. "You're forgetting how well I know you, Becks," she said. "I know how you look at guys you like. I saw the way you smiled at Rick and I saw the way you blushed at the mention of his name just now."

Kate narrowed her eyes, valiantly trying to keep from flushing with tell-tale color. Damn it, why weren't people born with the ability to control their blushes? "There's nothing going on with me and Castle." And she was lying again, sort of. Nothing was going on, nothing had happened—_yet_. But it would. It—this _thing_ with Castle she'd been fighting for so long _was_ going to happen. Something was definitely going to happen between her and Castle; what Kate still wasn't entirely sure of was whether the something would end well.

Maddy's eyes danced as she grinned. "Fine, there might not be anything going on between you and Rick now but I know you, Becks. Just between you and me, you can admit it. You're hot for Castle. You want little Castle babies."

"Maddy!" Kate hissed, knowing her face was probably the same color as Maddy's red dress, if not redder, since her face felt hot enough she was marginally surprised it wasn't actually bursting into flame. "You don't need to broadcast it!" _Hot for Castle. _It was the literal truth—she felt hot every time she thought about Castle, pictured Castle, saw Castle and those damnable blue eyes of his and his hands and his chest and his arms and his… (_shut up, shut up, Kate!_)—but to hear it like that—it just… she just… _oh god…_

Really, it was very uncooperative of the universe to not arrange for a hole in the ground to open up so she could leap inside it and hide for the next hour… or two… or five…

"Oh fine, I'll stop for now. But I know I'm right, Becks."

Kate rather desperately changed the subject, asking Maddy how and why she'd decided to open up Q3 in the first place and Maddy smirked but answered the question and the subject of Castle was, thankfully, dropped.

_~To be continued…~_

* * *

_A/N 2: Knowing Castle, I have no doubt that his watch was ridiculously expensive so I decided that if it was going to meet its doom in a pot full of liquid nitrogen, its death should serve a higher purpose than allowing Castle to make a quip about freezing time. _

_As always, thank you, everyone, for reading and reviewing, especially the guest reviewers whom I can't thank personally and a special shout-out to one particular guest reviewer whose enthusiastic reviews never fail to make me smile. _


	18. Chapter 18

Author's Note: The third of four chapters dealing with "Food to Die For." After the general light-heartedness of the last few chapters, I think I should start with fair warning that this (long) chapter is, as Castle would put it, a heavy, emotional one with lots of introspection. (It didn't seem plausible to me that Beckett would be able to run into an old high school friend and reminisce without it raising some issues.)

Also, I embellished quite a bit on what Castle said about _Gathering Storm_ in "The Third Man," which I trust Castle will forgive me for, since it was done with the best intentions and for his own good.

* * *

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 18_

Kate let herself into the loft quietly to see Castle sitting on the couch reading a book.

He glanced up at her, his eyes giving her a once-over that lingered more than usual and was, she suspected, entirely unconscious, and lifted a hand in greeting as he absently put his book down. "Hey, you're back. How was dinner?" For probably the first time in Kate's memory, his question wasn't addressed to her face—and for what was definitely the first time in Kate's life, she wasn't annoyed at a man for not looking at her face when he talked to her. Because she knew perfectly well that Castle's feelings for her were not only about her looks. And in that moment, she just let the little flutter of her heart from his unhidden admiration brighten her mood, let the warmth of his eyes and his expression wrap around her.

"Everything was delicious," Kate answered. "You'll really have to go to Rocco's new restaurant sometime. You would love it, as much of a foodie as you are. The risotto was amazing and you would probably have swooned over the pumpkin gnocchi."

He smiled. "Well, now that I've met Madison, I might actually be able to get a table there."

He sobered as he stood up, heading to the kitchen. "Do you want anything to drink? Wine? Tea? Water?"

Kate managed a smile. "Tea would be great. I'm just going to go up and change."

He nodded. "Your tea will be waiting."

Kate changed into sweats and a t-shirt, slipping on her necklace with her mom's ring on it, and returned downstairs to find a mug filled with the mint tea she liked waiting for her. She slid onto one of the stools at the island and curled her hands around the warmth of the mug, breathing in the scent of the tea. "Thanks, Castle."

"Anytime."

Kate focused on the swirls of steam rising from her mug of tea for a long minute and felt the hard knot of emotion she'd been holding onto begin to unwind, felt her tension begin to dissipate. She felt as if the warmth from the tea was warming not only her hands but her heart as well—but realized, even as she thought it, that it wasn't the tea itself that was doing it. It was him, Castle, for making the tea, for knowing without her saying what kind of tea she wanted right now, just as he'd figured out her coffee order more than a year ago.

And she suddenly realized that this was what she'd subconsciously been expecting, what she'd been holding on to over the last couple hours as she clung to composure and made herself continue chatting with Maddy. That she just needed to get through the evening and then she could return to the loft— to Castle—and she would be fine.

He was watching her with that sober, focused look of his, the one that gave her the uncomfortable sense that he was trying to see straight through her—and more and more these days, made her feel as if he might actually be able to see straight through her.

She straightened up, deliberately smoothing her expression into placidity. He couldn't see through her. (Could he?) She had a better poker face than that. "So our hunch on checking in with Robbery to see if anyone knew anything about Wolf and his money issues paid off."

He lifted his eyebrows at her, the corners of his lips tugging upwards into the beginnings of a smirk. "I think it was your hunch but I'm happy to take credit for it."

She gave him one of her patented Beckett eye rolls, even as she felt her heart lifting again at his so-characteristic quip, and went on as if he hadn't spoken. "Someone down in Robbery knows a guy who works for a local bookmaking ring and he recognized Wolf from _Kitchen Wars_ and noticed him doing business with a bookie."

Intrigue and that look of excitement that he always got when evidence slotted into place for a story unfurled across his face. "So Wolf got in deep with a bookie and ended up getting iced. Literally."

She couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped her. He did love plays with words. Such a writer. "I don't know. Word is that this bookie is shady but smart, able to stay out of trouble. And smart bookies don't usually resort to killing the people who owe them because it's much harder to extort money from a dead person than a live one."

He made a face at her. "You're ruining my story with your logic again."

"Anyway, the word on the street was that Wolf liked to bet big."

"Well, then, it looks like we're going to a bar tomorrow and _betting_ we'll get some answers."

She rolled her eyes a little. That was a lame one by Castle standards. She sobered as she remembered the other piece of the puzzle the boys had dug up. "Oh and that's not all. Espo and Ryan texted me at dinner to let me know that Wolf had been looking into getting out of his contract with Q3."

Castle frowned. "What would that do to Q3 and Madison?"

"It would ruin her," she answered. "I asked Maddy about it and she told me that she tried to persuade Wolf to stay but he refused and so she talked to her lawyer about how to force him to stay. Thing is, she had business insurance on him and now that Wolf's dead, she gets Q3 free and clear and the $2 million insurance payout. It does give her a motive," she finished quietly.

"But at least you know she didn't do it. She has an alibi," Castle reminded her.

"Yeah, maybe, but I still had to tell her not to leave town while we double-check it." Kate suppressed a wince. That had been an awkward conversation.

"Well, what with how swamped I imagine she'll be dealing with Wolf's death, somehow I doubt skipping town is anywhere on her agenda," he commented.

"Yeah, you're right, but I still needed to make sure. It's my job."

Her job. As a homicide detective.

Kate felt all the emotion she'd been trying to push back and ignore flooding back at the thought.

He was quiet, still watching her for a long minute, before he finally ventured, "You look tired, Beckett."

She managed a small laugh. "Gee, thanks, Castle. Such flattery."

"I wouldn't flatter you," he said bluntly. He made a rueful face and then added, his voice softer, "What I meant was that you deserve sincerity, not empty compliments."

_You deserve sincerity. _

Kate felt her heart flutter in that way that was becoming more and more common when he was around.

"It was a long day," she finally told him.

And it had been. A long, emotional day. And the sheer extremes of emotion had exhausted her.

"Mm hmm," he agreed. "How was it, catching up with Madison again? A little weird?"

"It was good to talk to her. It had been a while. She's still the same Maddy, though, as outspoken and irrepressible as ever." It had been good to talk to Maddy, had been… fun reminiscing over their high school days. But it had also been hard, had hurt more than Kate had expected, to be reminded so sharply of those days, that time in her life when she'd been happiest, so carefree, so fearless. To be reminded again of just how much she'd changed and what had happened to make her change.

"Talk about old times much?"

He was dancing around the question he really wanted to ask, she knew, when he wanted to ask her bluntly what was wrong. She could see it in the caution and concern written all over his face, hear it in his voice.

And she had to wonder at what point she'd stopped being surprised that he could read her expression so he didn't need to ask her if anything was wrong but already knew from looking at her that something was wrong. She could swear she was better at concealing her emotions than that but in these last few weeks, he had gotten better at reading her. And tonight, she knew she was a little too tired, a little too emotionally wrung-out to hide her emotions well.

She looked at him, met his blue eyes, still watching her with that steady warmth and concern for her, an emotion that she was afraid to try to identify clearly visible. She felt it settling around her like a warm, soft blanket.

_Do you think I can't tell when a man is in love with my only daughter?_

She sighed, letting her shoulders slump. She was tired. Too tired to pretend to be fine. And Castle was here and they were alone, Alexis no doubt already in bed with her self-imposed bedtime.

With Castle, she didn't need to pretend, the thought darted into her mind.

"Maddy wanted to know how I ended up becoming a cop," she told him quietly.

"Oh." The one quiet word was his only response but she knew he understood. He knew the story, knew exactly what she would have needed to tell Madison.

Kate rubbed a hand down her face to help fight back the tears she refused to allow. "She hadn't heard, she didn't know about my mom. I lost contact with my high school friends, first because I was across the country from almost everyone else and then after… after everything that happened…"

It was never easy telling anyone what had happened to her mom but telling Madison had been… harder because Madison had known Kate's mom too. Maddy remembered Johanna, from sleepovers at Kate's home, from parent visitation days, from after-school events.

He nodded and she knew he understood how it had been easier to distance herself from high school, the happy times of her past before her world had been ripped apart.

"It's just… Maddy's stayed in touch with people. She went to our 10-year high school reunion and she… never heard about my mom. No one knew, no one had heard about it, not even rumors." Just saying the words made Kate's throat close up again with the same emotion from earlier.

"'I will show you fear in a handful of dust,'" he murmured.*

"T.S. Eliot," she supplied, her brain automatically identifying the line without consciously thinking it.

He gave her the barest hint of a smile. "Have I ever mentioned how hot it is that you read?"

She managed a real smile, feeling some of the tightness in her chest dissipate at the errant flicker of amusement. "You might have mentioned it once or twice."

His eyes crinkled a little at the corners in a faint smile that was mostly in his eyes and never quite reached his lips. And there was so much warmth, so much… understanding… in his expression it somehow had the effect of making her heart warm and yet ache a little at the same time.

"It just… hearing that no one had heard about my mom… it reminded me of… the first years after… the bad years," she managed to say, her throat closing up. The bad years—it was the way she always referred to that time in her own mind in the times when she thought about it at all, which she actively tried to avoid doing. The years when her dad had been drowning and she'd felt so utterly abandoned, lost in a world that didn't care that her mom had been murdered, had been stabbed and left to bleed out alone in a cold, dirty alley. The police who were in charge of finding out who had done it and why it had happened hadn't cared. _No one_ had cared, or so it seemed to her in her own devastating grief and anger and confusion and helplessness. After the first couple weeks or so had passed, family friends had stopped visiting, had stopped bringing containers full of food around to their apartment. After the first couple months, people had stopped mentioning it to her, had stopped expressing their condolences.

Kate didn't blame them—she did understand that life went on and that it didn't actually reflect hard-heartedness—but at the time, to her reeling, devastated 19-year-old self, it had seemed like the entire world was coldly, callously indifferent to Johanna Beckett's death.

She'd escaped to Kiev for some months but even there, she'd found it hurt, found herself swamped with fresh devastation every time she saw something beautiful or interesting or particularly noteworthy and automatically found herself thinking that she needed to tell her mom about it. She'd thought it would help to get away from the City, from home, where everything reminded her so painfully of her mom, and it had helped. She'd loved Kiev, really, but it had hurt too because the very unfamiliarity of it reminded her of how much she'd lost, made her feel even more alone. And she'd come back from Kiev to find her dad sinking deeper into his addiction. He had only started to drink when she'd left, as far as she knew, and she hadn't realized that it was a problem, had not been able to believe that her sensible dad would lose himself like that. She'd called her dad once a week from Kiev and her dad had always insisted he was fine but she'd returned to realize that he really wasn't.

She remembered finding her dad passed out, drunk, on his couch the first time, remembered the way she'd broken down. She remembered all the times after that when she'd found her dad drunk, sometimes crying sloppily over his glass and other times rambling drunkenly, incoherently, when he was conscious at all.

She remembered the way she'd suddenly felt as if she'd lost both her parents because that pitiful, broken wreck of a man was not, could not be, the father she'd always known, the responsible, intelligent lawyer, the calming presence when she and her mom were more voluble, the man who'd patiently taught her to appreciate baseball with its slower pace, its intricacies.

Kate tried to shove away the thoughts, taking a too-large gulp of tea.

This was why she tried not to think about those first years, tried not to remember them, but an evening reminiscing with Maddy and having to tell Maddy about her mom had the memories crowding fast into her mind.

She closed her fist around her mother's ring, shutting her eyes against the prick of tears.

"Kate… I—I'm so sorry…" she heard Castle say, his voice little more than a whisper.

And somehow, inexplicably, she felt… comforted. Not so much because of what he'd said but his tone, the knowledge of his presence, the knowledge that if she talked, managed to find words to express what she was thinking and feeling, he would listen.

And the thought darted through her mind, only half-realized, that she wasn't alone, not now, not anymore.

It had been the hardest part about the bad years, that she had felt so alone, abandoned. Her mom whom she'd loved more than anyone else was dead; her dad who had been her support, the only real family she had left since she hadn't been close to her Aunt Theresa or her Aunt's family, had been broken, a hollowed-out shell of the man he'd once been, unable to help himself let alone help her.

All she'd had in those bad years was herself. She had had to fend for herself, support herself, take care of herself—and of her dad—had been her own solid ground because she'd had no other choice.

She had built herself up again, had survived, had set a goal and found a career for herself—and she had done it alone. She had formed her entire adult life around being alone, independent, with her rebuilt relationship with her dad being probably the sole exception to that (and even when it came to her dad, as much as she loved him and trusted him, she didn't allow herself to lean on him too heavily, tell him too much. She had seen her dad when he was broken, at his worst, and even now, when her dad was so much his old self again, she couldn't quite forget that, couldn't entirely push from her mind the times when she had needed to be strong for both of them.)

She was Detective Kate Beckett and she stood alone.

As she had been since the day her mom died.

Except in one sense that wasn't strictly true, she suddenly realized. What had helped, where she'd turned to for strength and inspiration and a measure of faith that justice could still exist, had been books. _Castle's_ books. It had started only as a way to feel closer to her mom, reading the books of an author her mom had liked as a sort-of penance for the times the young Katie in her own teenage arrogance had laughed at her mom for reading mystery novels and not even the classic mysteries like those by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle or Willkie Collins or even those Grande Dames of British Mystery, Agatha Christie and Dorothy Sayers, but modern mystery novels, popular fiction. And then she'd realized just why her mom liked Castle's books in particular, had discovered the wit in them, the humanity in them, the justice in them.

Castle's books had helped her in those bad years—and now, how strange, how surreal, and at the same time, how oddly fitting, to think that the man who had written those books was helping her now, had saved her life, had offered her shelter and a home when she needed it. Castle had, she found herself thinking, been helping her since long before she'd ever met him.

Even back then, when she'd felt most alone, she realized, she hadn't really been alone because she'd had his books. His books had been the friends she so desperately needed, with the words and the message she had needed to hear. His books had been her solace and her comfort. (And what had she ever done for him? She only owed him, so much more than she'd realized.)

She opened her eyes to see him, Richard Castle, the man whose words had saved her long before she'd ever met him in person, watching her with the same, steady warmth and compassion, and it somehow seemed… natural to give him some words in return. His words had saved her once and now, of all people, he would understand her words now. "I just… it bothered me so much. In those first years, it seemed like… no one but me and my dad cared what had happened. The cops didn't care. And now… it's just… hard… hearing how no one even heard about what happened to me, to my mom. Maddy went to our 10-year reunion and she heard news and rumors about what other classmates of ours were doing, who'd married or divorced or had a kid and all that. But no one had heard about my mom." She stopped, swallowed hard, before she managed to continue, her words halting, uneven. "And maybe I wasn't prom queen or the most popular girl in the school or anything but it just… my _mother_ had been murdered and no one I went to school with had even heard about it. No one noticed and I… I know my mom wasn't famous or… or something… but she was my mom and she was _murdered_ and no one seemed to _care_." Her voice almost cracked from suppressed emotion and the uncharacteristic flood of words ended on a choked sob, strangled before it could escape. God, she didn't think she'd said so much at one time in… years.

He didn't respond for a few seconds and she flushed, suddenly self-conscious of how much she'd just blurted out—she, Kate Beckett, who didn't talk about things, who never seemed to have the right words. "Sorry," she hurriedly added. "It's… stupid, it's irrational, it's—"

"No," he interrupted her, quietly but with enough emphasis that it made the word seem loud. "It's not stupid. It's… human. We all want to matter, to know that people care and would notice if we were gone, and you're right that it's not—it wasn't right that your high school classmates hadn't heard anything. People should… notice when a life ends, especially when a life is taken."

He really did understand. Of course he would understand.

"'Each man's death diminishes me, For I am involved in mankind,'" she murmured quietly. It was a line he had quoted once too in one of his books, Kate couldn't remember exactly which one.

"'Therefore, send not to know for whom the bell tolls, It tolls for thee,'" he finished equally quietly.** Their eyes met and held and she had the sudden, odd sense that he had been thinking of that poem too. Felt too a sense of connection with another person that she'd never felt before with anyone, ever—not that he could read her mind or that she could read his, but that somehow, this man, of everyone in the world, really _knew_ her. In spite of her walls and her reticence, he knew her, saw past her defenses to all the vulnerability and weakness she tried to hide.

It was irrational and unsettling and terrifying and she had to look away, tearing her gaze away from his.

They were both silent for a long minute, and she risked a quick glance up at him in time to see a fleeting shadow from some memory cross his face, before he said, his voice soft, thoughtful, "It's one thing I always try to do in my books. Whatever else happens, someone always cares about the victims. Even if the victims don't have family, they have friends or someone who cares, who _notices_ that they're gone. I try to show that it _matters_ when someone is killed, that it's important, even if the person is… a nobody in the world's eyes."

He was right about that, Kate thought, and he'd succeeded. She suddenly remembered _Gathering Storm_. It was one of her favorites of Castle's books. Derrick Storm had climbed up a dumbwaiter shaft to save the Swiss Ambassador's daughter but what Kate had always liked was that the victim that had led to Storm's heroics, the one whose death had bothered Storm enough to dig deeper, had been a maid in the old mansion the Swiss Ambassador's family had been staying in. A maid who'd been an immigrant from Brazil, who had left all her family behind. Her death had caused no ripples in official circles, aside from the minor interest that came from the mere fact that her life had crossed paths in that most impersonal way with the Swiss Ambassador, but Derrick Storm hadn't been satisfied.

Castle had meticulously mentioned small, personal details about Luisa, the maid, that made her unique, an individual, in the reader's eyes—the faint scar on one side of her chin, the rosary she always carried with her, the single dimple she had in one cheek, the postcards of Brazil and a few personal pictures of the family she'd left behind which she'd kept pinned up on the wall of her small, otherwise austere, bedroom. Castle had made it so that in the end, the reader cared just as much, if not more, about the fate of Luisa, who spoke not one word of dialogue and never appeared as a living character in the book, as she cared about the Swiss Ambassador's daughter who had been a fully-realized character. It was things like that which had made Castle's books stand out among other mysteries, things like that which had made his books so important to her.

"You do show that it matters. And in your books, your victims always get justice," she added. "I know. It's… it's why I liked your books so much," she admitted, not quite able to believe she was telling him this in so many words but somehow, it felt right to tell him now. Because he'd been comforting her for so much longer than he knew.

He raised his eyebrows at her, giving her a look that might have, in some other lifetime, been almost teasing but in this one, only looked… oddly humbled. As if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. In all the times since she'd met him when she'd stopped to consider how he would react if he ever discovered just how much she loved his books, from that first interview when he'd unerringly (irritatingly) identified her as being "a fan," she'd dreaded him ever finding out just how much of a fan she was. Had thought she would probably need to twist his ear clean off, and maybe shoot him, to wipe the smirk from his face if he ever found out. Now, though, when she had admitted, in so many words, to liking his books, he didn't smirk, didn't look smug. And she realized that she should have known he wouldn't, not now. She knew him better than that. Telling him she liked his books would always have been a serious thing because of how related it was to her mom's death and when it came to her mom's death, she knew he wouldn't be smug, would never make light of it.

She wouldn't tell him now just how much his books had meant to her, how they'd saved her, but for the first time since they'd met, she thought she could tell him just what his books had meant to her someday. Not quite yet, but someday, she thought, she would tell him. He deserved to know.

"What happened to your mom mattered. It was noticed," he assured her quietly, gently, after a moment. "Even if your high school friends didn't hear about it, it still mattered."

"It didn't matter to Detective Raglan," she gritted out the name, feeling renewed anger at the thought of him, at how he hadn't looked deeper, hadn't cared. It had been a matter of days—she and her dad hadn't even finished making the funeral arrangements for her mom—before Raglan had told her and her dad that Johanna Beckett's murder had been categorized as random gang violence with the unspoken implication that the investigation would stop there. Random wayward event when the evidence that it wasn't, was anything but random, had been right there, even when Kate and her dad had both told Raglan that they knew of no reason for Johanna Beckett to have been anywhere near that alley that night, that it wasn't anywhere on a possible route from her office to the restaurant or to their apartment. Another devastating blow, the cool, businesslike demonstration of official law enforcement indifference for all the sympathetic platitudes—the indifference hurting all the more because they were the ones whose _job_ it was to care what had happened, who were _paid_ to find out what happened.

She looked down at the table, shutting her eyes against the sting of angry tears, as she thought of her first years on the force, the rabbit hole she'd fallen into in her determination to prove Raglan wrong, her determination to find out the truth of her mother's murder because she needed to know why, needed a reason for why her world had been so brutally ripped apart. Those had been bad years too, although she didn't think of them as being "the bad years" in the same way as the first years after her mom's death had been. Because being in the NYPD had given her a purpose, had given her some measure of support in the brotherhood of cops.

It hadn't kept her from falling down the rabbit hole, those endless months when she'd spent nearly every off-duty moment in the archives, poring endlessly over her mother's case file, only interspersed with visits to the gym or to the shooting range to either pound out or shoot out her frustrations and her anger and her fear. She'd forgotten to eat except in the times when she was on duty and would eat whatever was at hand, hadn't slept except for brief snatches of time here and there. To this day, her memory of those months was hazy at best, her clearest memory from that time being the day that had seen those months end when Montgomery had called her into his office and told her flat-out that he was ordering her to take a physical because she didn't look fit for active duty. Montgomery had not wasted any words as he told her that if she didn't stop, he would have no choice but to put her on forced leave. The threat—and the results from her physical which had shown that her weight was hovering right around the minimum weight requirement for fitness for active duty and that while her shooting was better than ever, her combat skills were barely up to par because she'd lost physical strength and muscle mass along with her weight—had shocked her back to something like full awareness. She had gone into counseling, had put away her mom's case and forced herself to set it aside.

"Raglan was a bad cop," he said simply. "And that's on him, something he'll have to live with. But Beckett, no matter what he did, remember that in the end, eventually, your mom did get some measure of justice. You got Coonan."

She looked at him and this time she couldn't even attempt to hide, let alone stop, the tears slipping down her cheeks. He reached over and handed her a tissue in silent compassion and she hid her face in it for a moment.

Her mom had got some measure of justice—and it was because of Castle. As angry at him as she had been for prying into her mom's case, as betrayed as she had felt, she realized that she wouldn't change what he'd done, didn't regret it. She had forgiven him back in the fall but for the first time, she thought that in a way, what Castle had done had not been a bad betrayal. Raglan was the initial betrayer; he was the one who had not cared, had not done his duty as a cop. For so long, no one aside from her had cared to keep looking into her mom's case and that very indifference had been the real betrayal. Because, as she knew all too well, it _mattered_ when someone was killed and it wasn't, should never be, a matter of indifference. It was why she'd become a cop in the first place.

And Castle—he had _cared_, he had looked deeper. He might not have done it with her permission—and he should have because it was her mother's case, her life, he was looking into—but at least it had mattered enough to him that he'd made the effort to look. _Not_ caring, as in the indifference of Raglan to the truth, was the worse betrayal.

She remembered, with a clench of her gut and a renewed surge of blinding fury, the way Coonan had so coolly dismissed her mother's murder as not being personal, as if her mother's murder—again—didn't matter.

When it always mattered. Taking a human life mattered, should always matter, and people should care when a life was ended.

She had already forgiven Castle but now, she thought, she could not only forgive but understand, even feel oddly grateful for it. She had initially thought, in her first spurt of hurt and betrayal and anger, that he had looked out of that damn curiosity of his, his nosiness, but now—now, she knew him too well to believe that. There might have been some curiosity but that wasn't really why he had looked into it. Curiosity alone would not have made him consult with Dr. Murray. He had looked because he had cared—did care—had consulted with Dr. Murray because he cared enough to look deeper. Cared about the truth, about justice—cared about _her _enough to want to help her, to give her the closure she had never had. And that mattered. _Motive_ mattered. Knowing why mattered.

A memory, his voice, flickered through her mind. _That tells me something happened… It was someone you cared about, someone you loved. And you probably could have lived with that but the person responsible was never caught… _She had hated him in that moment, hated the arrogant jackass for ripping past her shields, exposing the deepest, most private wound in her past, callously blundering in where angels feared to tread to show off his own perspicacity.

He wasn't that man anymore, his thoughtlessness, his brash impulsiveness toned down, tempered. He had changed, grown up.

He had taken responsibility for the mess that the entire Coonan thing had been, been willing to leave because he had blamed himself for being taken hostage by Coonan. As if he'd been in any way to blame for it.

_If it wasn't for you, I would have never found my mom's killer. _

It was true.

"Kate."

She startled a little to hear her first name and met his eyes.

"Your mom's death mattered and so did her life. Your mom made a difference. Whatever else, you know she made a difference. And you make a difference too. You're the one who remembers the victims, who ensures that no one else has to go through what you did, of thinking that the cops don't care about their loved one's murder. It's important. You know how important that is. Esposito and Ryan are good cops but they don't feel for the victims the way you do; you make them better cops just by virtue of being you."

He paused and then added, "And if you're ever worried that no one will notice if something happens to you, just think about what Lanie will do to you if you ever end up on her autopsy table."

She choked on a laugh. And there, he'd done it again. He caught her up in his words and moved her until she'd thought she might cry, the pressure in her chest getting to be almost painful, and then he made her laugh. He made her laugh when she needed it, when her emotions got to be too much, too painful. He made her laugh and in doing so, he kept her from suffocating, kept her from drowning.

She suddenly remembered what he'd said before she'd gone in to confront Dick Coonan, when she'd been spiraling into fear, into suffocating doubts that she would let her mom down.

_Do you know why I based Nikki Heat on you? Because you're tall. _

And just that bit of levity had saved her. (It rather belatedly occurred to her to be a little amazed that Castle had known just what to say, had known how to reach her in that moment. When probably 99 out of 100 people would have told her some serious reassuring platitude.)

"I know," she managed to say, giving him a small smile. "Lanie's already told me that if I ever end up in her morgue, she'd bring me back to life just so she can kill me again herself."

"See? You don't want to risk ending up a zombie." He pulled an exaggerated face of horror. "What a terrible waste you being a zombie would be."

"Yes, it would be a terrible waste of a great brain," she agreed with mock solemnity.

He gave her a smirk that she knew was forced, deliberately waggling his eyebrows at her, trying to draw her out. "I was thinking more that it would be a terrible waste of your hot body because really, rotting skin peeling off and mottled blood patches and all that, not an attractive look."

She laughed out loud and paused to be amazed. Just an hour ago, she'd felt rather as if all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and cry and now, incredibly, she was laughing aloud. Only Castle.

To almost anyone else, it would have sounded horrible, that he could joke when they had, after all, been talking so seriously about her mom's death—but she was a cop. Graveyard humor was the way they coped. And Kate, more than most, needed humor, needed to be made to laugh to keep her from drowning in the darkness of her job, being crushed under the weight of her memories.

She needed… him. That was really it. She didn't know when it had happened—maybe it had been from the time her apartment had exploded around her and she'd been left with the precinct and Castle as the two things that still remained constant in her life, maybe it had started even longer ago than that when she'd told him that he made things more fun—but somehow, she'd come to rely on him in a way she hadn't allowed herself to rely on anyone in years. Rely on him to have her back, to make her laugh when she needed it, to be her friend and her partner.

And tonight, talking to Maddy, having to tell Maddy what had happened to her mom (although she'd limited the summary until it had sounded rather like the way Castle had profiled her when they'd met, had not mentioned Dick Coonan and the real truth, had not told Maddy what had happened to her dad afterwards—she almost never mentioned her dad's troubles to anyone, still wondered sometimes why she'd told Castle about her dad so quickly), reminiscing with Maddy and being reminded of all the carefree happiness of her high school days, all the fearlessness that she had lost… She'd kept up a fairly cheerful front with Maddy, had managed to laugh over the memories, but she had done it trusting that she would only need to pretend until she got back _home_, to the loft, to Castle.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt that way, the last time she'd felt that another person's presence would be comforting, let alone felt that she could depend on anyone else for comfort, for strength, but somehow, crazily, without her even consciously realizing it, it was how she'd felt tonight. (No, that wasn't strictly true; she could remember the last time she'd felt that way—with her mom. Her mom had always been able to comfort her. But then her mom had died—and she'd never felt that way again. Until tonight.)

It was… amazing because it wasn't something she did. She knew herself and when she was vulnerable—hurt or sad or upset—she retreated into solitude, like a burrowing animal into its… burrow. (God, she was tired.) She didn't let people see, didn't trust anyone to comfort her.

Except… she had tonight.

And she'd been right. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes—those so-blue eyes steadily looking back at her—yes, she'd been right. Tonight when she'd subconsciously told herself that getting back to the loft, to Castle, would help, would make things better, she'd been right. He had made things better, had comforted her.

She couldn't help but picture what it would have been like if she'd had her own apartment to return to, if she'd had to return to an empty, solitary apartment after an evening that had already reminded her of how abandoned she'd felt after her mom's death, how alone. She would have pushed herself past the emotion as she always did after a hard day, she knew, would maybe have poured herself a drink or two although she tried not to rely on alcohol as a coping mechanism having seen what it had done to her father. Would probably have curled up with one of Castle's books and let his books comfort her.

This was better. She was suddenly, amazingly, almost glad that her apartment had exploded, that she hadn't managed to find another apartment yet. And she was definitely glad that staying at the loft for these weeks had inevitably made her friendship—relationship with Castle become closer, had made her trust him so much more. Had made it possible for her to talk to him like this.

She still had walls; she wasn't naïve enough or optimistic enough to think that it would be so easy to move past the conditioning of more than a decade, and even tonight, she hadn't opened up to him about her memories, only told him a little about why tonight had been so hard for her. But for the first time, her walls didn't seem insurmountable either.

She could try—she would try to let him in, try to train herself to be more open. For Castle, she would try.

She _wanted_ to let him in. If she was ever going to get past her automatic defenses, it would be for him. Somehow, incredibly, she was suddenly sure of that. Because he was… Castle. Her best friend, her partner, the person whose company she enjoyed the most, the one who always made her laugh when she needed it. He made her life easier, he made her feel… safe, he made her happy. And with his words, he had been helping her for so many years now. She'd relied on his words for so long…

And he deserved it—no, he deserved _better_ than her, deserved more than she was, but at the very least, he deserved everything she had to give without her walls and defenses.

"Castle." His name slipped from her lips before she'd consciously decided what to say.

"Hmm?"

She met his eyes, wondering a little frantically what she could say, what she should say, how she could possibly express any of the rather confused thoughts and emotions rioting around inside her right now. She never seemed to have the right words, not for the things that really mattered.

She finally settled, lamely, for the easiest ones she could think of, the only really clear emotion she had right now. "Thank you. For listening, for being here. It… helped."

His eyes softened. "Always," he said quietly.

The word—the sincerity in his expression, in his voice—had her flushing, her heart suddenly fluttering around wildly in her chest, as she realized not only that he meant it but just how much she wanted to believe it.

She knew how fragile life was, how quickly things could change, no longer really believed in things like forever—but at that moment, looking at him, she wanted to believe. She wanted "always" to come true…

She still didn't have the words so instead, on an impulse, she moved her hand, reaching across the kitchen island to grasp his where it rested on the counter. She felt him stiffen a little with shock at her touch—they almost never touched—his gaze moving to stare at her hand curled around his for a fleeting second before he turned his hand over, allowing him to curl his fingers around hers.

Oh. The shock of his touch, the impact of the simple gesture—_they were holding hands_—seemed to rocket up her arm and settle in her chest.

She stared, for a moment oddly mesmerized at the sight of their joined hands. She'd known he had big hands but knowing it was different from seeing how his hand practically dwarfed hers, made her fingers look almost childlike in comparison, from feeling the warm, solid pressure of his fingers clasping hers.

Just holding his hand like this made her feel… protected. She wasn't alone anymore.

She wasn't sure how long they sat like that, not talking, just holding hands. It could have been just a few minutes, it could have been a few hours—somehow, either felt equally likely.

But the moment ended, rather incongruously, when she abruptly found herself yawning, the yawn taking her by surprise before she could even consider covering her mouth, doing so only belatedly.

She felt herself flushing with some embarrassment and his lips quirked up in a faint smile but his eyes were still soft with concern and undeniable affection.

"Go get some sleep, Beckett."

"You're right. I should," she agreed but lingered, unmoving, for another moment. "Castle, I really… tonight… you made things easier." Oh god, the way he was looking at her somehow made any other coherent words evaporate from her tired mind and she was left with only two, rather lame and utterly inadequate to properly express all he'd done for her and how much she appreciated it. "Thank you."

His smile deepened, reached his eyes. "Anytime, Beckett. Now go sleep."

It was an order, gentle as it was, and she had the sudden fuzzy impression that if she didn't, he would—as she knew he was quite capable of doing—actually make her go up to her room and sleep. (She didn't doubt that he could physically carry her up to bed—and even in her current state, felt a little flicker of arousal at the thought—after all, he had easily carried her away from her burning apartment building. But when Castle carried her to a bed for the first time, she would really rather not be half-asleep for it as she knew perfectly well he wouldn't touch her when he knew she was this exhausted. He wasn't the sort of man who would, ever, take advantage of a vulnerable woman.) And he never told her what to do—not that she would have listened to him if he had—but tonight, she was too tired to even narrow her eyes at him.

Instead, she only nodded. "Good night, Castle."

"Good night."

And then, finally, she released his hand, aware even in her current state, that her hand immediately felt cold when his hand was no longer holding hers.

She went upstairs and almost fell into bed and her last thoughts before she slid immediately into sleep were not of her mom or of her dad or any of the old memories that had been dredged up tonight after talking to Maddy but were of him, of Castle, and she fell asleep with a faint smile on her lips.

_~To be continued…~_

* * *

* From T.S. Eliot's poem "The Waste Land."

** From John Donne's poem "No Man is an Island" (also known as "For Whom the Bell Tolls").


	19. Chapter 19

Author's Note: The last chapter based on "Food to Die For" with some more familiar dialogue ahead. This chapter, or more accurately Beckett's revelations in this chapter, could be said to basically summarize the "point" of this fic in the first place and I have to admit I'm rather pleased with how it turned out. I think I managed to transfer what I envisioned in my head onto the page so I'm curious to see what you all think.

For I'm Widget, who might recognize some of this chapter from a conversation we had early on.

* * *

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 19_

The smell had Kate hurrying down the stairs of the loft the next morning to see Castle in the kitchen, wearing an apron with the Superman logo on it and the words, Super Chef, stenciled above it. As she stepped off the stairs, he used a spatula to transfer what looked like a perfectly-done pancake from the pan onto a plate already stacked high with pancakes before he looked up at her, smiling.

He gave her a look that somehow managed to be both happy and concerned at the same time. "Good morning, Beckett," he greeted her, his voice infused with so much cheer she felt herself smiling automatically, her heart lifting—and she hadn't even had her first coffee of the morning yet! (Smiling before she'd had her first coffee—that had to qualify as a minor miracle.)

"Morning, Castle. You made pancakes," she blurted out a little dumbly but she was surprised.

Breakfasts at the loft during the week were usually quick, easy-to-make things, things like toast or yogurt or cereal. It was only on weekends when he would occasionally go all-out in preparing a real breakfast, omelets or eggs and bacon or waffles or, yes, pancakes. (He had even made his infamous s'morelet one weekend and eaten it himself with every appearance of enjoyment, although Kate had flatly refused to try it, assisted by Alexis who had had no compunction about telling Castle that his s'morelet was gross and inedible.) He must have woken up an hour or so earlier than usual this morning from the looks of things. There was fruit, already sliced, on the table, a glass of orange juice set out at Alexis's normal spot, and a mug of piping-hot coffee (she could see the steam curling upwards from the hot liquid) that Kate knew without asking would already have been prepared just as she liked it, waiting at her usual seat at the table.

It was the coffee that did it. The sight of her coffee, all ready and waiting for her, that made her realize, fully, with no room for doubts or equivocations anymore—she loved him. _Oh shit._ Oh god, she'd fallen in love with him, with Castle. Fallen so deep she'd never be able to find her way out. This was it. _He_ was it.

He gave her a look of exaggerated dismay as he huffed, "These are not just pancakes, Beckett. These are _special_ pancakes." (He was adorable. And she loved him.)

She reached out intending to tear off a piece from one pancake just to try some of this "special" pancake but he waved her away with the spatula.

"Ah ah ah, Beckett, no stealing. Just run upstairs and fetch Alexis, would you? These aren't done yet."

Oh. Oh damn, it was suddenly, ridiculously hard to tease him as she usually would, to raise her eyebrows at him challengingly, but she pulled herself together and managed it. "What do you mean, they're not done? Of course they're done."

"Nope, they're not. Now go away and get Alexis." He made a shooing gesture with both hands and she made a face at him but she went anyway, biting back a smile.

He was up to something. She wasn't sure what he was up to and she didn't know why he was insisting the pancakes weren't done yet when they looked—and smelled—delicious—but he was definitely up to something. He had that air of (badly) suppressed excitement around him, the glint of anticipation in his eyes. And she loved seeing it, loved the way he got so excited over things.

She knocked quickly on Alexis's door. "Alexis?"

"Come in," she heard from inside and Kate pushed open the door just enough to poke her head inside.

Alexis turned away from the mirror where she was brushing tangles out of her hair to give Kate a quick smile. "Morning, Kate."

Kate returned the girl's smile. "Good morning. Your dad sent me up to fetch you."

"He did?" Confusion flickered across the girl's face.

"He made pancakes," Kate explained. "He wants to make sure you come down while they're still hot."

Alexis's face lit up with the un-self-conscious happiness that reminded Kate so forcefully of Castle. "Pancakes, really?" She hurriedly tied back her hair into a rather haphazard ponytail and then rushed out of her room, gripping Kate's arm and almost dragging Kate with her as she ran down the hall and down the stairs.

Kate had to laugh as she followed along in Alexis's wake. Oh, this was definitely Castle's daughter.

Alexis squealed as she got to the bottom of the stairs and flew across the open floor plan of the loft to practically throw herself at Castle as he let out a grunt and fell back a step.

"Good morning to you too, pumpkin," he laughed.

Alexis beamed at him, rising up to brush a quick kiss to his cheek. "You didn't have to make strawberry happy-face pancakes just because I've been so grumpy lately trying to decide about the Hamptons this weekend."

He grinned. "Who said I made them for you?" he quipped and Alexis laughed, rolling her eyes at him.

"Dad, really. They're strawberry happy-face pancakes."

"Strawberry happy-face pancakes?" Kate repeated, suddenly remembering that night a year ago when they had closed the Melanie Cavanaugh case, overhearing the tail end of Castle's phone call with Alexis and how he'd promised to make strawberry happy-face pancakes for her the next morning. It was right after that when Kate had told Castle about what had happened to her mom and her dad.

Castle and Alexis both turned to Kate.

"Oh, sorry, Kate, I forgot you wouldn't know what strawberry happy-face pancakes are," Alexis said.

"Enlighten our dear Detective here as to why these aren't just pancakes, Alexis, while I finish getting them ready," Castle instructed.

"Come on, Kate," Alexis said, grasping Kate's hand and leading her to the table, explaining, "Dad always used to make me strawberry happy-face pancakes as a special treat for my birthday or on holidays or if he wanted to cheer me up after—" Alexis abruptly broke off, a faint flicker of a frown crossing Alexis's face before it was gone, and she corrected herself, "if he wanted to cheer me up for some reason."

Kate's eyes went from Alexis's face to the sudden tension in Castle's form and realized what Alexis had not said, what she'd stopped herself from saying. Castle had made strawberry happy-face pancakes to cheer Alexis up when Meredith had done anything to hurt Alexis.

"I told you these are special pancakes, Beckett. They have super-powers. It's impossible to feel sad while you eat them," Castle added from the kitchen.

Alexis grinned. "He's right about that—not about the super-powers part but that they are special pancakes."

"Ssh, Alexis, no more of that talk about them not having super-powers," Castle scolded. "You'll hurt their feelings," he said as he came over to the table, a plate in each hand. "One happy-face for you," he said, putting a plate down in front of Alexis and dropping a quick kiss on the top of her head as he did so, "and one happy-face for you, Beckett," he added and placed the other plate in front of Kate.

Kate bit her lip to hold back a laugh—oh, wow, Castle and Alexis hadn't been kidding at all when they'd called these strawberry happy-face pancakes. She'd already been able to tell that the pancakes had strawberry pieces in them but oh, she should have known that in the Castle household, that wouldn't be good enough. Oh no, he had made an actual smiley-face on the pancake using strawberry slices for the eyes, nose, and smile and then—only Castle—given the pancake "hair" using whipped cream.

Castle met her eyes as he set her plate down—oh, his lapis lazuli eyes except no stone could ever look so soft and bright and warm—and she was suddenly, amazingly, certain that he hadn't decided to make his special strawberry happy-face pancakes for Alexis this morning, or at least not only for Alexis. She didn't know where the thought came from or why she was so certain of it—it was supremely self-centered of her and unfair to Alexis as she knew just how devoted Castle was to his daughter—but meeting his eyes now, she knew it. He'd made these special pancakes not only for Alexis but also for _her_, because he'd seen her tears last night, because he wanted to cheer her up.

Oh this man, this kind, loving man who was so good to her. She really, really did not deserve this man. She felt a rush of emotion fill her chest, a jumbled mess of gratitude and humility and fear and love, oh so much love—and saw his steps momentarily falter as she smiled at him, wide and bright and so, so grateful to him. She had the sudden, crazy urge to take his hand and then kiss his palm, maybe cradle her face in his hand—

"Thanks, Dad." Alexis's voice startled Kate—oh god, she'd completely forgotten that Alexis was right there—and startled him, she could see, as his eyes flared wide in the instant before he turned to smile at his daughter.

"Anytime, sweetie. Enjoy."

He met her eyes again, fleetingly, this time, and then moved past her to return to the kitchen to get his own pancakes and she wasn't sure if it was accidental or deliberate that his hand brushed ever so lightly against her shoulder as he did so, the touch sending a little shiver zinging through her.

Oh god, if she was reacting like this to the brush of his hand on her shoulder even through the cloth of her shirt, being kissed by him or touched more intimately by him would probably outright kill her.

Kate dragged her mind away from the thought—she really needed to get a grip on herself this morning—and lowered her gaze to her plate and found herself smiling—probably grinning like a loon, if she had to be honest—at her pancake.

It was ridiculous and childish and silly to be decorating food like this and, really, she would never have expected she would enjoy it so much, would have expected herself to roll her eyes in irritation, but there was something irresistible about it too.

She was still smiling as she took her first gulp of coffee—yes, he had prepared it exactly as she liked it. To say nothing of the fact that he only bought gourmet specialty coffee beans to begin with, which always made his coffee better.

Castle returned to the table with the plate stacked with the rest of the pancakes and his own plate (with, of course, a happy-face pancake for him too), setting them down first, before he returned with his own coffee and took his seat. "Eat up, Beckett. There are plenty more pancakes and just say the word if you want butter or syrup or some other topping."

She smiled at him before she cut up her pancake and took a first bite and then her eye lids fluttered closed, a moan getting trapped in her throat. Ohh. She fell in love all over again—with his strawberry happy-face pancakes.

She opened her eyes to see that his jaw had gone slightly slack as he watched her, his eyes suddenly dark—what—and then she remembered how she'd reacted to the first taste and felt herself blush. It wasn't really like her, to make noises as she ate, but for him, she decided she didn't mind—and she didn't mind, either, knowing perfectly well what his mind had done with the way she'd reacted, how he'd transposed the sound into a more intimate situation.

"Oh, Castle, this is probably the best pancake I've ever had."

He blinked and then his face broke open with delight.

"Dad makes the best pancakes," Alexis agreed, drawing Kate's eyes. God, she really, really needed to stop simply forgetting that Alexis was there or she was going to do something irrevocably, irretrievably stupid like kiss Castle for the first time right in front of his _daughter_ and then she'd never be able to look Alexis in the eye ever again. And she didn't want that.

They ate their breakfast mostly in silence, unusual for the Castle household, but Kate guessed that no one felt inclined to talk rather than focusing on Castle's delicious pancakes. (She might have moaned a couple more times as she ate but really, she couldn't help it.) She wasn't usually one to eat much in the way of breakfast, normally just rushing out of her apartment after having her (first) cup of coffee. But since she'd been staying at the loft, she'd been eating something in the mornings, even if it was only a slice of toast or half a bagel, along with coffee, since otherwise she'd learned that Castle would send her these unsubtle looks and give a little lecture, ostensibly to Alexis, about breakfast being the most important meal of the day (he was such a father). And so she'd given in and started to eat, at first because the looks he sent her and his pointed lectures were annoying her and she wanted him to shut up (but because he always carefully addressed Alexis, she had no reason to snap at him herself), and then because she rather liked mornings in the loft, nibbling at her breakfast while drinking her coffee and skimming through the newspaper, while Castle puttered around and chatted lightly with Alexis and with Martha on the occasional mornings when Martha was around.

Kate made her way through a couple pancakes and had some fruit, until she thought her stomach might have gone into shock at having so much food this early in the day, but the pancakes were too good to resist and seeing the way he smiled, his obvious pleasure at her enjoyment of the pancakes he'd made unfurled all across his face, she couldn't help but want to prolong his joy and ate rather more than she might have otherwise.

(Oh god, she was ridiculously, frighteningly, completely in love with him.)

But then breakfast was over and she realized, belatedly, that they really should leave for the precinct if they didn't want to be late and Alexis needed to leave for school, so the comfortable morning dissolved into a hurried rush as Alexis ran to get her things for school and Kate quickly helped Castle do a haphazard clean-up of their breakfast, just putting away the rest of the fruit and pancakes while he set the dirty dishes and mixing bowl to soak in the sink.

Alexis brushed a quick kiss to Castle's cheek and called out her goodbye to Kate while Kate retrieved her gun from Castle's office, and then they were leaving too, a few minutes later than usual, but with enough time to stop off for their usual coffees along the way.

She gave him another smile as he handed her coffee to her, letting her fingers brush against his as she accepted the cup. "Thanks, Castle."

"Anytime, Beckett. It's why you keep me around, remember?"

He was joking, of course. She knew that but a part of her wondered if, in some corner of his mind, he actually believed it. It wasn't as if she normally expressed her appreciation for everything else he did, all the little and not-so-little ways he made her life a little easier, a little brighter. "It's not just the coffee," she found herself blurting out.

He gave her a curious look. "What?"

She colored, her heart fluttering as if it was trying to escape the confines of her chest, but she made herself meet his eyes as she told him, "I don't keep you around only for the coffee, you know that, right?"

He smiled. "I know."

Their eyes met and held for a moment but then they had arrived at the precinct and any chance of a private conversation was lost as Espo and Ryan immediately came over and told her that they had taken a run out to talk to the bookie last night.

Kate had to suppress a smile at Castle's exaggerated pout.

"Oh really?" Castle asked, his voice slipping dangerously close to childish petulance. "I wanted to come along to talk to the bookie."

Espo gave Castle one of his _seriously, grow up, dude_ looks as he said, "Bookies don't exactly hold regular office hours so late nights are generally the best time to catch them. We were taking initiative."

"Yeah," Ryan chimed in, grinning, "'cause we're awesome like that."

"Exactly," Espo agreed as he and Ryan exchanged self-congratulatory fist bumps.

Kate bit her lip but couldn't hide her smile. "Okay, guys, I get it. Are you waiting to receive a medal from the Mayor or are you going to tell us what you found out from the bookie?"

The bookie's story about Wolf's diamond ring and Castle's subsequent brain wave as to its location started the continuous falling of evidence into place like so many domino pieces, one after another, as tended to happen towards the end of a case, until they were able to arrest Wolf's foster brother for the murder.

"I can't imagine the betrayal he must have felt," Ryan commented with a little sigh and a shake of his head.

"It's still not an excuse to kill," Kate pointed out mildly and Ryan made a small face of acknowledgement as he and Espo walked away.

Kate turned back to Castle who was looking thoughtful. "You ask me, she should have followed her heart, left David and gone with Wolf."

"You know, I can see the virtue in staying," Kate said slowly, thoughtfully, thinking of what Cecily had said. _You have no idea how hard it is to love someone knowing they're going to break your heart. _(No, Kate didn't; Kate had fallen in love with a man who would never knowingly hurt her, a man who had repeatedly shown that there was little he wouldn't do to make her smile and laugh, a man she trusted. A man who'd promised her that he would do anything that she needed, including nothing—when she knew doing nothing would have gone against every instinct he had.) "She said it herself, that she didn't think she could trust Wolf, and if you think about the kind of guy Wolf had been until now, caring about nothing much except for his cooking, sleeping around with married women, why should she have taken the risk?"

"Because the heart wants what the heart wants. And we saw how Wolf had changed over the last two weeks."

She met his eyes and felt her own heart soften, suddenly feeling absurdly protective of him, of his tender heart, his belief in things like magic and aliens and forever and that people could change and be reformed. Ridiculous and silly and irrational because he was a grown man, perfectly capable of taking care of himself (for the most part, however childishly he might behave sometimes), and he was resilient, had so much strength of character to have been able to preserve his belief, his youthful optimism, in the face of all the darkness he saw. She knew he wasn't naïve and he certainly wasn't stupid; he wrote crime novels that were clear-eyed about humanity's faults and weaknesses, how venal, how weak, how evil people could be. His love had been betrayed and abandoned by Meredith. His kindness had been used and taken advantage of—Scarlet Price, the call-girl in the Jack Buckley case, came to mind and she was sure others too, remembering what he'd said about how hard it was to find disinterested friendship. And she knew all too well that cynicism was the easiest, most natural response to betrayal and to years of thinking about crime. But Castle wasn't a cynic, had resisted that easy path and chosen to retain his belief, his hope, that humanity was capable of more. She loved that about him.

"Wolf had made some drastic changes in his life in the last two weeks," she conceded, "but it seems like the sort of impulsive, all-out sort of thing a guy like him would do and who knows how long his reform would have lasted?"

"You don't think Wolf would have meant it when he proposed, that he was sincere about reforming?"

"I think he would have believed he meant it," Kate said carefully. "I just don't know how confident I can be in such a drastic change of heart and course of reform over only two weeks, which isn't a long time. I mean, most people's New Year's resolutions last longer than that."

"Because you don't think people can change," he responded, echoing what she'd once told him.

"People don't really change, not in essentials, unless it's the response to some terrible trauma." she stated.

He shook his head a little. "I don't know, Beckett. Wolf just found out he was going to be a father. Speaking from experience, I can tell you that having a kid changes you. I know having Alexis changed me."

She couldn't help but smile faintly at his words, the mention of Alexis, even as she thought again of what Cecily had said. _ If I couldn't trust him as a man, how could he be a father?_ And thought of Castle, of the Castle she'd gotten to know so well over these last weeks at the loft. The real man she saw every day with his mother and his daughter. Castle wasn't Wolf—or wasn't what Wolf had appeared to be, although Kate was fair enough to admit that as she'd never met Wolf in life, she had no real way to know.

"No, Castle," she said quietly, "I think you're wrong about that."

He frowned at her. "Wrong that having a kid changes you? I think I would know better than anyone."

"The thing is, Castle, that people don't really change in essentials, not even from having a kid. We see things like that every day, don't we? The unfit parents whose kids end up in the foster system or that guys who hit their girlfriends or wives end up hitting their kids too."

His frown deepened, as he recoiled a little and shook his head sharply at the mention of abuse, and Kate felt her heart soften. She knew even the mention of domestic violence or child abuse upset him, offended him in a visceral way because it was so utterly inconceivable to him and his protective instincts, knew he always thought of Alexis when any kids were mentioned.

Her tone gentled as she added, more quietly, "It's not just that sort of extreme situation. It's things like benign neglect too. Just having a kid doesn't guarantee that a parent will really care or there wouldn't be dead-beat dads."

His eyes flashed up to hers and she knew he was thinking of Meredith. She could see it, recognized the tightness in the set of his lips, the shadows that clouded the clear blue of his eyes, that usually accompanied the thought of Meredith and her maternal inadequacies.

"You say that having Alexis changed you, Castle," she went on, giving him a faint smile. "Having Alexis might have made you grow up but I don't think having Alexis really changed _you_, not in essentials."

He raised his eyebrows at her, his frown clearing and the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, but all he said was, "You didn't know me before Alexis. I was a real idiot back then."

She gave a soft laugh. "You were young, Castle. Everyone's a bit of an idiot at that age. And I might not have known you back then but I can be pretty sure you haven't really changed."

"How?" he challenged her, smirking a little now.

"Because I've met and talked to two different women who did know you before Alexis—Kyra and your mother." She hadn't talked to Kyra much but she'd seen the way Kyra and Castle had treated each other, seen the way Castle looked at Kyra—and pushed aside the unwanted, ridiculous pang of jealousy at the memory. And she recognized the way Castle had looked at Kyra now in a way she hadn't at the time because it was the faded, lingering ghost of the same depth of emotion she saw on his face when he looked at Alexis, even if the sort of love he felt was entirely different. She knew the way Castle cared, knew how complete his loyalty and his devotion were to those he cared about. (And she could only wonder, again, at Meredith because the woman had to be insane to throw away Castle's love the way she had.) Yes, she knew the way Castle loved and oh god, she wanted him to love her…

He made an exaggeratedly pained face. "Whatever my mother has told you about me, don't believe it. The woman dramatizes things so I don't know if she'd recognize the plain, unvarnished truth if it walked up to her and introduced itself."

She laughed a little, as she knew he intended her to, but then sobered and told him seriously, although she wasn't quite able to meet his eyes as she said it, "It's not really what Martha has said about you that makes me so certain that having Alexis didn't really change you. I know you now, Rick Castle, so yes, I am sure that even before Alexis, you were still _you_, still had the same heart, the same devotion to the people you care about."

"Why, Detective, I do believe you just paid me a compliment. You really must have liked the pancakes this morning," he quipped, although his eyes were serious, showed what her words meant to him.

She laughed, relaxing, even as she felt another rush of love at how he'd deliberately tried to set her at ease. Oh, Castle. (Did he love her? _Please love me, Castle.) _

He smiled at her, his smirk vanishing, his eyes becoming soft. "Thank you, Beckett."

She made herself shrug a little. "It was the truth." She paused and then added, trying to make her voice sound light, "I've seen you with Alexis and Martha a lot in these last few weeks and you're not nearly as good at pretending to be a frivolous jackass as you think you are. You're a softy at heart."

He glanced around theatrically. "Don't tell anyone! You'll ruin my reputation!" he said in an exaggerated whisper.

She smiled. "Your secret's safe with me. And speaking of Alexis, shouldn't we be getting back to the loft?"

He straightened. "Oh, you're right. Alexis should have made her decision by now and if she does decide to go, I want to make sure I see her before she leaves."

Of course he would. Kate looked over at the boys as she gathered up her things. "Hey, guys, we're heading out. I'll finish up the paperwork for the case tomorrow."

Espo flapped a hand at her. "Do it Monday; we can cover the paperwork the DA will need for Nikolaiedes's arrest and it's not like One PP will notice if you don't finish the rest of the paperwork before Monday."

"Yeah, you're not on duty this weekend," Ryan chimed in. "Take the weekend, Beckett, and we'll see you on Monday."

"Okay, thanks. Have a good one, guys."

Espo waved while Castle and Ryan exchanged a quick fist bump as they passed Ryan's desk.

Back at the loft, they found Alexis sitting on the couch with a small suitcase sitting beside her.

"Oh, so you decided to go away for the weekend with your friends," Kate heard Castle say, unnecessarily, as she went into his office and put away her gun.

She slowed her steps, pausing just outside his office, as she watched Castle and Alexis, suddenly feeling as if she would be intruding on a father-daughter moment as Castle sat down by Alexis's side. "Well, is there anything I can do to make it easier on you?"

Kate smiled a little to herself. She loved the way Castle was with Alexis. He let Alexis make her own decisions, even though she knew he worried over Alexis as much as he trusted her, but he was also always there to help if Alexis wanted it or needed it.

And this, she thought, was why she trusted Castle so much, more than she trusted anyone else in the world.

He was trustworthy. And oh, she had been so stupid, so unjust to Castle—she really didn't deserve him—and so slow, so terribly, idiotically slow to see that Castle wasn't a risk. Not really, not in that way.

She had identified Castle as being risky from the moment she'd met him, too annoyed by the jackass persona, his wiseass comments, and his childishness, had written him off as a cocky playboy—a risk in every sense. Because jackass playboys, especially men who were as handsome and charming as Castle undoubtedly was, were risky, living life for their own pleasure and moving easily along to the next shiny bauble whenever their initial interest waned. She had seen it, had dated boys like that in high school and one guy in Kiev, Pavlo, who'd been fun (and hot), had been one of the first people to draw Kate out of her morass of grief over her mom and make her feel alive again. And then had come the day Kate had needed someone, because it had been her mom's birthday and, if that weren't enough, as if the universe had been conspiring to make an already-hard day even more difficult, she had passed by a woman who, at a quick glance, had resembled Johanna Beckett, and then Kate had seen in a store a set of carved elephant figurines, that had looked almost exactly like the ones her mom had kept on her desk, the same elephants Kate now had on her own desk in the precinct. Kate had unthinkingly gone to Pavlo because that day, of all days, she'd just wanted to be held. Pavlo had welcomed her embrace, at first, but then she had broken down, sobbing like a child—and had been met with… nothing, really. He'd patted her shoulder a few times, awkwardly, then left her almost immediately with a flimsy excuse. Kate had seen Pavlo exactly once after that, the next day, kissing a blonde against the door of his apartment, with his hand up her shirt.

Kate didn't trust easily and she certainly didn't trust men who were attractive and had the roguish bad-boy charm that drew women like moths to the flame—and like the flame, they burned women who got too close to them. Kate had learned her lesson. That guys like that, guys who came along, upsetting the applecart with their charm and physical attractiveness, whose very presence was exciting, intoxicating—guys like that were not to be trusted, could not be relied on.

And then she'd met Castle. Her favorite author and she had been so corrosively disappointed and, yes, angry that he had turned out to be a cocky jackass playboy—another too-charming man who could not be relied on.

Except he _wasn't_.

He had rather acted like it when they'd first met, that shallow, arrogant playboy persona he'd assumed—for publicity purposes? For self-protection? She still didn't know for sure, although she suspected it was a combination of both—but that wasn't the real Castle.

Because she knew him now, had seen him with his mother and his daughter, knew how loyal he was and how loving. And she had lived the home life he'd made for himself and for his family—and she realized that somehow, in spite of (or maybe even because of) his somewhat unsettled childhood (she could guess at what Castle's childhood as the son of a single mother actress must have been like, even if he'd never outright said anything, and it would not have been a model of stability), his reputation, his playboy past, his failed marriages, Castle was… _reliable_. He was dependable. It was in the way he took care of Alexis, in the way he treated Martha. It was in the way he had stepped up and opened up his home to her when she'd needed it. He might still be—he _was_ silly and childish and impulsive and occasionally thoughtless and he could be cocky—but with all that, he was… trustworthy. For the people he cared about, Castle's loyalty, his devotion, were unshakable.

She remembered watching him with Alexis and thinking of the sense of security she herself had lost with her mom's death—the sense of security, of absolute confidence in her father's love that Alexis so obviously still had. Kate, better than almost anyone, knew how a person's confidence in a parent could be shaken and lost and knew, too, how hard it was for that trust to be regained. And Alexis clearly had lost whatever confidence she had ever had in her own mom, knew all too well how fallible parents could be. But Alexis's faith in her father was still absolute. For all the teasing and the joking about Alexis taking care of Castle—and for all that in some ways Kate knew there was some truth to it—Castle had raised Alexis alone. He had taught his daughter to have confidence in herself, to be brave. He was protective but he made a point of encouraging his daughter to explore, to make her own decisions. And he was always there to be the safe harbor for Alexis to return to.

That was the sort of father he was. It was the sort of man that he was.

It was why she trusted him. Why she loved him. And she had been so blind not to realize it before now.

Alexis thought for a moment and then a sudden smile appeared on her face. "Yes. You can order me to stay home."

Kate blinked. What?

Castle sounded just as nonplussed as she was. "You're serious?"

Alexis nodded.

Castle sighed a little, straightening his shoulders almost imperceptibly as if he needed extra fortitude to do something he so rarely did, forbid Alexis from doing something. Kate smiled. Adorable man. "All right," he agreed, shifting closer to Alexis and meeting her eyes directly, as he made his voice sound thoroughly sober. "Alexis, this chemistry test is worth far too much of your grade for you to go gallivanting around the weekend with your friends at the beach. You have to stay home and study. I insist."

Alexis smiled and threw herself at him as he slipped his arm around her, resting his chin against her hair, before Alexis drew back. "I've gotta call Lacey… Lacey? Yeah, I'm so sorry but my dad just told me I can't go. I have to stay home and study for that stupid chem test this weekend… Yeah, I know, I know. Can you believe it?... Yeah, so much for having a cool dad."

Kate covered her mouth with her hand to keep from laughing aloud. Oh, Alexis was doing it up proud—a little too well as Castle turned to protest. No, Castle was not going to be pleased at that. He prided himself so much on his status as the "cool dad." Alexis silenced Castle by covering his face with one hand as she finished talking to her friend.

Ending the phone call, Alexis smiled at Castle again. "Thank you."

Castle drew Alexis in for another hug and then he added, slyly, "You won't be thanking me when you see what I have planned for this weekend."

Kate bit her lip but a smile escaped anyway. Yes, she'd been expecting something like that. Castle was not about to let a slur on his "cool dad" status go by without appropriate retribution.

Alexis drew back and gave Castle a questioning look, a little frown of nervousness appearing on her face.

"1,001 ways to distract someone who's studying," Castle announced, standing and grasping Alexis's hand to pull her up with him. "We start by freezing ping-pong balls."

Alexis's protest was cut off as Castle dragged her with him and Kate couldn't help but laugh, drawing their attention.

Kate only had time to feel a niggle of warning as Castle and Alexis exchanged identical, conspiratorial glances. And then both Castle and Alexis had each grasped one of her hands and were pulling her with them.

"If I'm getting dragooned into having fun, then you are too, Kate," Alexis told her.

"Right. New rule of the Castle household: every resident is required to be involved in distracting Alexis from studying," Castle declared.

Kate laughed. "I guess I don't have a choice then, do I?"

He glanced back, met her eyes, and then grinned. "Nope."

And she couldn't find it in herself to even pretend to be reluctant or at all irritated. Because she loved it, loved this, loved being treated like a member of a family, loved feeling like part of a family—_this_ family. And she loved Castle for sharing his family with her.

_~To be continued…~_


	20. Chapter 20

Author's Note: Another (very) long chapter as things are really starting to happen now. I appropriated a small plot point from 3x14 "Lucky Stiff" in this chapter, which will become obvious. And we're getting Castle's POV in this chapter, including some recap of things that happened in the last couple chapters.

* * *

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 20_

Something was bothering Beckett and Castle was worried.

He didn't know what had happened since they had had such a good weekend while distracting Alexis from her studying. It had been quite possibly (probably) one of the best weekends of his life. Beckett—no, Kate—he couldn't think of her as Beckett when she'd spent the better part of the weekend smiling and laughing and generally having fun with him and his daughter in a way that he'd frankly never imagined her to be capable of. (The only thing that would have made the weekend better was if he and Kate could have also had more adult fun alone in his bedroom once Alexis had gone up to her room to sleep but that could come later, sometime in the not-so-distant future. He hoped.)

He had—to his continuing surprise—managed to persuade Kate to join in an epic game of laser tag with him and Alexis on Saturday. (Well, okay, so his powers of persuasion didn't have much to do with it. He'd asked, rather expecting her to roll her eyes and refuse, but while she had rolled her eyes a little, she had only considered for a moment, in which time he had given her his best pleading expression, and she had agreed. He'd made a mental note to check that the sun hadn't suddenly started revolving around the earth. It hadn't.) And he'd never in his life been so glad that the laser tag set he'd bought so many years ago for him and Alexis had been a set of four; at the time, he'd just thought that having a back-up pair in case either he or Alexis ended up breaking one was a good thing. He'd never really expected to ever play laser-tag with anyone else but then again, everything about Kate Beckett continued to take him by surprise.

And Kate and Alexis had (entirely unfairly, as he had made a point of noting, well, complaining) teamed up against him and ensured that he had lost quite thoroughly. In his defense (and as he'd also made sure to say very loudly while Kate and Alexis had been gloating), Kate had an unfair advantage as she was a trained professional. Alexis had only giggled as she'd commiserated with him in feigned sympathy while Kate had laughed (at him) but really, seeing Kate Beckett, flushed and happy and laughing, her eyes filled with green sparks of mirth, he wouldn't call that a loss. Any time he managed to make Kate Beckett laugh like that was a victory in his book.

(Besides, at that moment, his resounding defeat at laser tag had been the furthest thing from his mind that had been entirely taken over by a dizzying surge of lust because Kate, flushed and breathless and smiling, with her hair escaping from the confines of her hair ties, had looked rather like a vision from one of his many, many fantasies of him being the one to dishevel her hair while he kissed her and touched her until she was breathless and panting—and he'd had to quickly yank his mind back before it could wander into places it should never, ever go when his teenage daughter was in the room.)

It had been such a good weekend—and if he hadn't already been head over heels in love with Kate, this weekend would certainly have finished the job because really, how was he not supposed to love a woman who would play laser-tag with him and his kid? He absolutely adored the way Kate treated Alexis, the way Kate had befriended Alexis.

In keeping with that, Beckett had persuaded him (okay, ordered him—she was definitely Beckett when she used that tone) to leave Alexis alone to study for a few hours on Saturday (telling him to go write or play video games or something for a few hours while she went out to look at apartments—and he'd kept himself from telling her—begging her—to stop looking and just agree to live with him forever by dint of biting his tongue) and for a few hours yesterday too, enlisting his mother for help as his mother had wanted someone to read lines with her to help her prepare for an audition and Beckett had—with a teasing, sideways look at him through her lashes that had effectively blanked his brain of anything but her and rendered him utterly incapable of making a protest—volunteered his services, along with her own, to help his mother rehearse. He would have demurred and ducked out of it when he was once more capable of speech, but Kate had smiled at him, one of her rare, bright, _approving_ smiles, and he'd heard her voice in his head—_I am sure that even before Alexis, you were still you, still had the same heart, the same devotion to the people you care about_. And he had decided that giving up a few hours of his afternoon to help his mother rehearse was a very small price to pay for having Kate smile at him like that. Smile at him the way she had Friday morning when he'd made strawberry happy-face pancakes for her and Alexis. Smile at him as if he had somehow done something amazing.

He felt his entire chest fill up with warmth and hope and love at the memory of Friday and, really, the last few days in general since the morning that Balthazar Wolf had been killed. (Also, a healthy dose of lust because the sight of Beckett in that purple dress to go to the dinner at Rocco's had rendered him temporarily incapable of higher brain function.)

He knew it hadn't been entirely easy for Beckett to run into Madison, knew it had brought up some bad memories; he had been rather expecting Beckett's reminiscing with Madison to hurt. A line he'd read somewhere came to mind, about how sorrow stained backwards. It didn't take much insight to guess that a lot of Beckett's memories of her high school years would inevitably remind her of her mom, especially as her mom had been killed so soon after Beckett had left high school.

He'd been right but he'd never in his life been less pleased over being proven right. His heart twisted at the memory of Beckett's expression the night when she'd returned home from the dinner at Rocco's, at the memory of Beckett's tears. He hated, absolutely hated, seeing her cry but at the same time, it had been so unutterably precious to him to realize that Kate was letting him see her tears, letting him see her when she was vulnerable.

He loved Kate for her strength but he wanted, so much, to be the person who got to see Kate when she wasn't so strong. He wanted to be the person Kate turned to in those few times when her own nearly-limitless strength failed, the person with whom Kate would let down her guard.

He knew her too well to think that Kate let herself rely on anyone like that now. Kate Beckett was independent, an army of one, who stood alone. He remembered what Jim had told him about young Katie refusing a nightlight, remembered what Jim had said about how he knew Katie didn't like to worry him and always insisted she was fine. Castle could guess—although he would never, ever put his guess into words—that Kate was still afraid that Jim might relapse and so Kate didn't allow herself to rely on her dad too much. But not even Kate Beckett was invincible and he wanted to be the one who stood beside her, who helped her.

He thought—hoped—believed—that she was starting to lower her defenses around him. She had let him see her tears, had talked—amazingly—about why it had been so hard to tell Maddy about what had happened to her mom. "The bad years" she had called them and Castle could fairly easily imagine what the first years must have been like for Kate from what little she had said, what he knew of her. And his heart had ached at the thought of the young Kate, wishing with a desperate longing that he could have helped her then. _Someone_ should have helped her.

But at least, he had been able to help her now. She had talked to him and thanked him and told him he'd made things easier—which, from Beckett, had to qualify as a miracle in that she was admitting she'd needed help at all—and she'd _held his hand_. _She_ had been the one to reach out and take his hand—and he'd been hard-pressed to keep from gaping because Kate Beckett, at least in his experience, didn't initiate physical contact, certainly not for comfort. He could probably count on his two hands the times in the last year that she'd ever touched him and the vast majority of those were for punishment, twisting his ear or swatting at his hand or something. And he, especially lately, had avoided touching her for any reason whatsoever because he was afraid that if he ever started touching her, he'd never be able to stop—and he didn't want her shooting his hand off or at the very least, make the living situation of her staying at the loft unbearably awkward. He needed Kate Beckett in his life and he didn't want to risk losing her.

But she had held his hand and the look in her eyes—for the first time, he'd sworn he could see something very like love in her eyes when she looked at him. Not just lust or friendship or even simple caring but love, all that he'd ever hoped and wanted to see in her eyes.

And the way she'd looked at him on Friday when they'd been talking about people's ability to change… _You were still you, still had the same heart, the same devotion to the people you care about. _ It was (almost) more than he'd ever hoped to hear her say; it was certainly one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to him (the nicest, except for certain things Alexis had said to him), and it meant more than any other compliment he'd ever received because it had come from her.

But now, something was wrong.

She was quiet, had been quiet all day. And while Beckett was never given to chatter (unlike him), she generally responded to him with more than monosyllabic answers, especially lately.

And she hadn't smiled all day. Not even when he'd given her coffee, which was unusual. She didn't always say anything when he brought her coffee but she almost always smiled, even if it was the small, closed-mouth smiles that barely reached her eyes.

He suspected she hadn't slept well last night; there were shadows under her eyes that spoke of a restless night. But it wasn't only that. Her eyes were dark. She was a little paler than usual, although he could tell that she'd tried to conceal it through her makeup. Her lips were paler than usual, though, and that gave her away. (Was it weird that he knew the exact shade of Beckett's lips? No, he decided; he only spent approximately ten minutes of every hour of every day mesmerized by them, after all. It would be weirder if he didn't know the exact shade of her lips, just like he knew the shape of them.)

There was a small pinched frown that had taken up residence between her eyebrows that normally indicated that she had a headache but somehow he didn't think whatever was bothering Beckett today was as simple as a headache.

She looked… he studied her out of the corner of his eye as she filled out the paperwork for the Balthazar Wolf case… brittle. That was the word. Beckett looked brittle. And it was so wrong on so many levels to see Detective Kate Beckett looking like that. Kate Beckett had a spine of tempered steel—Kate, the woman he was lucky enough to see so much more often in the loft now, was softer, the vulnerable core of the woman she was—but Beckett was so strong it amazed him and humbled him every day. And Detective Kate Beckett should never ever look so… fragile.

If she hadn't looked quite so brittle, he would have pushed but for once, she looked as if pushing might make her not flare up at him in anger but shatter instead and he never, ever wanted Kate Beckett to break and certainly not in the precinct where, he knew, if it happened, she would never forgive herself.

So he didn't push. He held back, kept quiet so as not to annoy her, occupying himself with his phone and with idly chatting with some of the other officers in the break room, even as he always kept one eye on Beckett sitting hunched over the paperwork on her desk.

Ryan caught his eye and he slipped away from the other cops to join Ryan at his desk.

Ryan glanced around and then asked, his voice low, "Dude, what's up with Beckett today?"

Castle suppressed a sigh. He should have figured this was coming. He didn't know if it was painful or funny or something in between that Ryan (and by extension, Esposito) would ask him now if something was wrong with Beckett, as if he would naturally know. (Both Espo and Ryan did know all too well that asking Beckett herself wouldn't do any good.) He adopted his best innocent expression as he answered, "What are you talking about?"

Ryan narrowed his eyes at Castle. "Don't play dumb, Castle. Beckett's barely said a word all day."

Castle attempted a smirk. "Because Beckett's usually such a chatter-box?" he returned sarcastically.

Now, Ryan glared and Castle was reminded, for the first time in a while, that Ryan was a trained professional cop too. It wasn't anywhere near the level of intimidation of a full-on Beckett glare or even one of Esposito's glares but it was a reminder that Ryan was armed, could hold his own in a fight, and, Castle didn't doubt, was a good shot in his own right. (No way that any cop partnered up with Espo and Beckett wasn't a damn good shot. Neither Espo nor Beckett would have tolerated it.) "You've barely said a word to her all day too," Ryan challenged.

Castle inwardly sighed, giving up on evasion, and mentally apologized to Beckett because he knew that she would hate, absolutely _hate_, the idea that he and Ryan were talking about her like this. But Ryan was only asking out of concern; Ryan and Espo cared about Beckett too, were her friends and her partners and the brothers she didn't have. (Under normal circumstances, Beckett usually acted as if she were allergic to concern, as if the very act of people being worried about her made her break out into a rash. Although, the thought darted into his mind, she hadn't acted that way after the dinner at Rocco's, but she had been exhausted and vulnerable and—his thoughts abruptly stuttered—at the time, they'd been alone, just the two of them. Was that it, the real difference, that Beckett didn't mind if he, alone, saw her when she was vulnerable?) "I don't know," he answered honestly. "I think she has a headache though," he temporized.

"And there's really nothing else? Nothing happened this weekend?" Ryan asked.

(Oh god, he both loved and sort of hated that Beckett staying at the loft had opened him up to questions like this. If Beckett really were living with him in that way, he wouldn't mind, but as it was, it hurt with the reminder that Beckett's stay at the loft was still a temporary thing and someday, sooner or later, what Beckett might do over the weekend would be none of his concern, would be nothing he would know about.) "She was fine all weekend." Well, she'd been more than fine; she'd been smiling and happy and even playful (Kate Beckett playful—who would have thought?), but he wasn't about to tell Ryan any of that.

Ryan didn't look entirely satisfied but then again, neither was Castle since he still had no idea what was bothering Beckett. "Okay, then."

Castle made his way back to his chair via the break room to make Beckett another coffee—her fifth cup of coffee of the day which was, even by Beckett's standards, a little excessive since it was barely even noon. He took the time to shape the foam into something approximating a clover before he carefully slid it onto her desk.

Her glance flickered from his face to the cup and something like a quick spasm of emotion—he couldn't quite tell what it was except it was nothing happy—flitted across her face.

And his resolve to not-ask (since he knew Beckett too well to think that asking would do much good, usually only tended to annoy her) finally crumbled, because really it was asking too much of man to stay silent when the woman he loved looked… well, the way Beckett looked right now. "Beckett," he ventured quietly, deliberately making sure no one aside from her could hear him, "you okay?"

He was expecting Beckett to say, _I'm fine_, with that tone of hers that just dared anyone to contradict the statement—but when Beckett was at work and on duty, Beckett would have insisted she was fine if she were gushing blood from multiple wounds she'd just received from fighting off a posse of Orcs.

So he was frankly stunned when Beckett hesitated for a second, slid a quick glance at him, and then said quietly, so no one else would hear, "Not now, Castle. Maybe later."

It wasn't much but from Kate Beckett, it was the equivalent of announcing that she was not okay with a loudspeaker. And she wasn't quite promising that she would talk to him later—at the loft—but again, from her, it was… almost everything.

"Okay," he murmured. "I'll be here." Would always be there for her, but he left that unsaid. That was a little too much openness for where they were—but soon, he thought.

Her eyes flickered up to meet his and, for the first time all day, the set of her lips eased just a little into what might have been a faint smile if it had been allowed to grow up.

And he felt somewhat better.

His concern, as cautious as it was, hadn't made her bristle or flare up at him. And he thought again of the night after the charity dinner. She'd been exhausted and emotionally drained, so he knew even Kate Beckett's normal walls would have been weaker than usual, but he was starting to hope that Thursday night hadn't been such an aberration after all, not if she was still, sort of, accepting his concern, acknowledging it. Tacitly admitting that she wasn't fine.

She didn't, unsurprisingly, say anything more, just returned to her paperwork while she drank the coffee he'd brought her.

And he pretended to play on his phone while he set his mind to trying to figure out what was bothering Beckett.

He glanced at her again and then momentarily froze. Oh. Oh wait. This, he thought, must be something close to what he guessed she would look like on January 9th, the day her mom had died. Not that he knew for certain since this past January 9th, she had taken the day off and he hadn't seen her at all.

He had, however, had a small, simple bouquet of flowers delivered to her apartment that morning with a simple note. _Just because. –RC. _He'd struggled with the note at the florist for a pathetic amount of time—he was a writer, for god's sake—but he'd finally left it at that, even though he'd wanted to write a novel's worth of words to express how sorry he was and that she should call him if she needed anything, but he'd known she wouldn't particularly appreciate—then—the implication that she might need anything, let alone from him, and so he hadn't.

It had undoubtedly been the smallest, least ostentatious bouquet he had ever ordered in his life but this was Kate Beckett, who was unlike every other woman he'd ever known. He'd been a little uncertain of her reaction—which was pretty much normal for him when it came to Beckett—but finally, towards the end of the evening, he'd received a brief text message from her. _Thank you for the flowers. _Only that and nothing more. But it had been enough.

And on January 9th of last year, he hadn't even met Beckett yet—as incredible as the thought was. And it did seem incredible to him. That there had ever been a time, even just a little over a year ago, when he hadn't known who Kate Beckett was.

He knew—he remembered from reading Johanna Beckett's case file—that it wasn't Johanna Beckett's birthday, which would be another hard day for Beckett.

But whatever was bothering her today had to be about her mother, didn't it? He couldn't imagine anything else that would make Beckett look so fragile, so overset.

He knew she'd been upset about her mom, the memories that had been brought up with having to tell Madison about her mom's murder. (Castle inwardly winced a little; Madison had undoubtedly met Johanna Beckett so telling Madison about what had happened to her mom would have had an extra poignant sting.) He thought again of all the suppressed grief and devastation in her voice as she'd said, _I know my mom wasn't famous or… or something… but she was my _mom_ and she was _murdered_ and no one seemed to _care_._

And the vague idea that had been percolating in his mind all weekend started to take concrete form.

A Johanna Beckett Scholarship Fund. It would be something to make Beckett feel better, comfort her to know that her mother would not be forgotten. To honor her mother's life and legacy.

His brain started churning and he pulled out his little notebook and a pen and started rapidly jotting down notes for what he would need to do, the logistics to set his plan into motion.

Calling the dean of Johanna Beckett's law school would need to be the first step but Castle didn't expect that would be a problem. It was one of the perks of fame that his name (and his money) opened doors for him that would be closed to general members of the public. There were, he knew, very few doors in this City, or for that matter in this state, that would be closed to him if he wanted access. He might not know the governor personally but he didn't doubt that if he wanted to, he could get a personal phone call through to the governor fairly easily. The dean of a reputable law school would not be a problem at all.

There would need to be a fundraiser, probably an annual one, to establish the fund. He couldn't simply start a scholarship fund in Johanna Beckett's name through her law school and fund it himself. Well, no, that wasn't true. He could do that; he had more than enough money to do that. More accurately, he _wouldn't_ fund the scholarship himself. The point of the scholarship fund was to honor Johanna Beckett's memory, which would be most effectively done through a fundraiser that would get the word out and really honor Johanna Beckett's life.

So what he could and would do was host the fundraiser for the Johanna Beckett Scholarship Fund. He would need to talk to Bob Weldon and Judge Markway, who, between them, would be able to give him a fairly thorough list of the influential (and wealthy) people who had an interest in the criminal justice system and/or legal education and should be invited to any fundraiser.

He would have to contact his publicist to hire an event planner for the fundraiser since neither he nor Beckett—

_Oh crap. _

Beckett.

Castle mentally pulled himself up short. He was doing it again. Coming up with something that he thought would help Beckett and then running with it. This wasn't, quite, on the level of poking into her mother's case but still. Castle bit back the sudden urge to scowl or growl or kick something.

He just wanted to help her and he was hamstrung because of that damnable independence of hers that was, somehow, both one of his favorite and least favorite aspects of her personality.

He just _had_ to fall head over heels in love with a woman who was stubbornly resistant to the idea of letting anyone help her or really love her. Bother. Damn stubborn, independent woman.

Okay, so that wasn't entirely fair to her, he acknowledged a little tiredly now. It wasn't as if he didn't understand where Beckett was coming from with her reluctance to show weakness or ask anyone for help, let alone actually rely on someone. It was just frustrating because what he wanted most in the world, he sometimes thought, was for Kate Beckett to let him in, to _trust_ him, and yes, to love him but also to _let him love her_. Let him be there for her, be her partner in life and not just at the precinct.

But she wouldn't be Kate Beckett—maddening, fascinating, frustrating, extraordinary, beautiful Kate—if she was less complicated or less damaged or in any way less than what she was.

And yet… She'd said, _maybe later_, and she'd told him, a little, about why the years after her mom's death had been so hard on her, and admitted to him that he had made things easier. And that she'd liked his books because the victims always got justice. (He was never ever going to get over that—Kate Beckett admitting in so many words that she'd liked his books, a lot—he had not felt such a rush of pride and humility and amazement in his work since… ever. Even the moment Black Pawn had told him they would publish _In a Hail of Bullets_ didn't compare or the moment when he'd first seen _In a Hail of Bullets_ on the list of _New York Times_ bestsellers. Those moments, as thrilling as they had been, hadn't been… personal. And in some corner of his mind, the lingering uncertainty, the niggling sting of hurt from when they had argued at the _Heat Wave_ launch party and she had spat out that Nikki Heat needed a better writer had been healed. Kate Beckett liked his books. No, he was never getting over that.)

_Maybe later. _For that, for Kate to trust him and actually talk to him about what was bothering her today, he could wait. Would wait a lot longer than the weeks he'd already been waiting for Kate to trust him more, to let him love her. And he only needed to look at her, only needed to remember the way she smiled at him sometimes, to know for absolute certain that Kate Beckett was worth waiting a very long time—years—for. (Although he really hoped it wouldn't take years.)

Later, by necessity, turned into much later since they needed to wait until she got off her shift and then when they got back to the loft, had to wait still further as Alexis was, of course, around, tired and fretting after her chemistry test that morning, and his mother, too, decided to join them for dinner that night. He was glad—so very glad—to see that being back in the loft, being around Alexis and his mother, seemed to revive Beckett a little. She was still more subdued than usual, her snark and wit noticeably lacking their usual spark, but she was better, smiled a few times and wasn't that much quieter than usual as she talked to Alexis and his mother. His mother, thankfully (or something) was in one of her particularly garrulous moods, telling stories that were wildly embellished (half of which were most likely entirely invented), and while he would normally have stepped in and tried (and generally failed) to rein his mother in, tonight he just let his mother continue on in full Hurricane Martha spate because it was making Beckett smile.

But finally, his mother left with one of her extravagant waves and a blithe "Ta ta, kiddos," that had Beckett smiling some more, her eyes shining with an affection for his mother that had his heart stuttering in his chest, and Alexis retreated to her room to do her homework, and he and Beckett were alone.

He made a face for Beckett's benefit. "Sorry, my mother was a little excessive tonight."

Beckett's lingering smile widened a little. "You don't have to apologize for that, Castle. You know I like listening to Martha's stories."

He did know that. He loved the way Beckett fit into his home and his family in a way that made it so dangerously easy to pretend that Beckett was really his, that she would always live here and never leave. Instead, he gave her a look of exaggerated dismay. "Please don't ever tell my mother that! You'll only encourage her and then I'll never have any peace in my house ever again."

He was more than rewarded for his silliness as Beckett gave a soft laugh. And he lost his breath for approximately the billionth time in the last year or so when she was around because god, she was so heart-stoppingly beautiful when she laughed. She was beautiful all the time, of course, but when she laughed, he swore she had to be among the top 10 wonders of the world.

He didn't say anything more and she was quiet and a comfortable silence settled over the room for a few minutes while he tried to be subtle about looking at her and wondering if she would, finally, tell him what had been bothering her. They were alone now after all.

She didn't say anything. And after a while, he ventured to say, "You look tired." She did but more than that, she looked… haunted, her eyes shadowed. But he didn't say that aloud; he knew her too well for that.

"I didn't sleep well," she answered briefly but her eyes flickered up to meet his for a moment and he felt somewhat better because in her eyes was an acknowledgement of his unspoken worry and she wasn't running away from it or denying it. She wasn't talking either but that didn't surprise him.

But then she added, quietly, "Nightmares."

Oh. _Oh Kate…_

Her mouth twisted a little into a rather wry grimace. "I know it's… silly… to be so upset over a dream."

"No, not silly," he corrected her immediately, his heart squeezing in his chest. She always expected so much of herself, was so hard on herself. Acted as if any little vulnerability was some terrible flaw in her character. "It's human. Often our nightmares show us our worst fears, bring out our deepest weaknesses, and that's bound to affect us." He paused and then added, "I've had nightmares that scared me so much I had to spend the rest of the night in Alexis's room." It was true—although it was something he had never before admitted to anyone. He hadn't slept well for more than a week after Meredith had kidnapped Alexis to Paris that one time; he was able to make light of it now but it had taken more than a year of distance before he'd been able to do so. And the time he hadn't been able to find Alexis in the mall when she'd been four—he still had nightmares about that, about never finding Alexis again, when every story of every kidnapping he'd ever heard about returned to haunt him.

Her expression softened, the set of her mouth easing a little.

She was quiet while he thought about her nightmares—about her mother and possibly her father, he guessed, but more likely her mother. She had probably had nightmares about her mother's murder for years, since her mother's death. He remembered the crime scene photos in Johanna Beckett's case file and he could only imagine how much those images would haunt Kate, to see her mother's bleeding body. He inwardly flinched at the very thought.

And he needed to comfort her.

"Beckett," he began quietly, "I had an idea about something and I wanted to run it past you."

She looked up at him, raising her eyebrows slightly in a questioning look, the faintest spark of curiosity entering her eyes. "Is this a Nikki Heat question?"

He blinked. He hadn't spared so much as a thought for Nikki Heat in the last two days. How could he when the real Kate Beckett was so much more fascinating than Nikki would ever be? (Anyway, for possibly the first time in his life, he wasn't behind in his writing. Having his muse living in his own home, spending so much time with Beckett, had made the words come faster than they had in years. At the rate he was going, this book was going to be finished earlier than his deadline—and Gina would probably keel over with shock.)

"No, it's about your mother," he answered and then inwardly winced, suddenly wanting to kick himself, at the way she almost imperceptibly flinched, her eyes flaring wide. The words had been automatic and it wasn't until then that he realized he'd unconsciously echoed the words he'd used to tell her about what Clark Murray had found about her mom's case last spring—before she'd told him they were done and shut him out for months.

He hurried on. "Not her case. I was thinking about what you said, about how it seemed like people didn't remember or care about your mom and I had an idea of a way to honor your mom's life, her legacy."

He paused, studying her expression. She looked… surprised and a little sad, as she always did at the mention of her mom, but he didn't see any sign of annoyance. Encouraged, he went on. "I want to start up a scholarship fund in your mom's name that would give a full ride to a student who planned to dedicate their career helping those in the legal system without a voice, the kind of people your mom championed. The phone call I stepped out to make this afternoon was to the dean of your mom's law school who's agreed to the idea." He hadn't been able to help calling the dean, figuring it couldn't hurt because if the dean said no, then there would be no reason to mention it to Kate.

"You—how do you know what law school my mom went to or the sort of law she practiced?"

He blinked. That was her question?

"Wait, no, never mind," she added, speaking before he could. "You asked my dad, didn't you?"

"Actually, no," he answered honestly and a little tentatively. It hadn't occurred to him that Beckett would ask—which was, in hindsight, probably silly of him—but now he wondered if what he was about to admit would be what made her angry. He knew how closely Beckett guarded her privacy. "I… uh… looked it up."

"When?"

He had the sudden feeling that he was being interrogated. "Last year, after you… told me what happened to your mom. I… I wanted to know more about her." He carefully did not mention that Johanna Beckett's case file, as sparse as the information in it was as a result of Detective Raglan's less-than-thorough investigation, had mentioned in the cursory summary of Johanna Beckett's life, that she had been a lawyer. He had wanted to know more about Johanna Beckett's life because he'd wanted to know more about Kate, about her background and her history, but he didn't want to say that. "There was a small news article about your mom's death that mentioned the sort of law she practiced." Which was true. There were crime blotter sections in the City's small newspapers, some of whom kept a dedicated reporter in police stations for that very purpose, and he was well acquainted with all of them, an occupational hazard, and he had guessed, correctly, that the murder of a lawyer in a back alley in a less-than-salubrious part of town would not have gone unmentioned. From there, with his experience in digging up information, finding out a summary of Johanna Beckett's career had not been difficult, especially as the law was a profession that left a paper trail, so to speak. The results of the bar exam were publicly available; case dockets with a mention of the lawyer's name were in the public record even if the contents of the case files themselves were not, and it had not taken much more digging to find out the name of Johanna Beckett's law school.

"There was a news article about my mom's death?" Her voice was soft.

"It was in one of the small local papers that deals mostly in crime stories. I used to read all the crime sections in every paper I could get my hands on, for research," he added, wanting to downplay the time he'd spent looking into Johanna Beckett. "I thought that it would be a nice way to honor your mom's life and ensure that her legacy goes on," he went on gently. "With your permission, I want to host a fundraiser to pay for the scholarship. I'm sure the Mayor and Judge Markway will agree to come and I can get a list of the Mayor's campaign contributors to invite."

"You want to start a scholarship fund in my mother's name to honor her legacy," she said slowly and he couldn't read either her tone or her expression.

"Um… yes," he answered a little hesitantly, wondering if this little brain wave of his was about to blow up in his face.

"Castle, I think that's…" she began but then stopped and before he could even begin to wonder what she had been going to say, her hands had come up to cup his face—_oh god_—and then her lips were on his—_ohgodohgodohgod_—and she was kissing him. _Ohhhhhhh…_

He would start up a hundred scholarship funds if this was the reward he got, he thought fuzzily—and then she licked the seam of his lips, her tongue—_oohhhhhhhh_—sweeping into his mouth—and his brain stuttered to a complete halt.

Her mouth was soft and warm against his and his hands belatedly came up to tug her closer to him and he finally finally nibbled her lower lip lightly before soothing it with his tongue the way he'd wanted to every single time he saw her bite her lip and then her tongue was tangling with his as the kiss deepened, becoming hot and deep and passionate, and a soft moan got caught in the back of her throat and he wanted to hear her make that sound every day for the rest of his life and he never ever wanted to stop kissing her and _oh god oh Kate I love you love you love you… _

It took a heroic effort before he tore his mouth away from hers, immediately feeling the loss of her, his breath coming fast and hard and his heart racing in his chest until he thought it might actually burst from his chest. He couldn't think straight and most of him just wanted to keep kissing her and then touching her but some small portion of his mind that retained a little bit of coherence needed to know, to make sure, because this had all happened so fast and they hadn't actually talked and he couldn't kiss her (more) or touch her or anything until he knew that she knew what she meant to him, until he was sure this wasn't going to be a one-time thing out of gratitude.

He opened his eyes and then almost groaned because god, she was gorgeous, with her lips swollen, her eyes heavy-lidded, her cheeks flushed, her breath coming quite as fast as his. He had to shut his eyes for a moment against the sight of her before he could choke out the words. "Kate, we—before we do… this… you need to know…" he opened his eyes to meet hers as he finished in a rush, "IthinkI'mfallinginlovewithyou." He didn't think it, he knew it and he wasn't falling in love with her; he already had fallen, so hard and so deep in love that he was drowning in it, would never not be in love with her, but he wasn't quite sure how she felt and he was terrified and he didn't want to scare her. Besides, it was still technically true because he thought he was falling deeper in love with her every day.

For a fleeting second, her eyes, her entire expression lit up with so much happiness he was a little surprised he wasn't blinded by the dazzling brightness of it and then, in the next instant, the joy was extinguished, her eyes dark, her face suddenly pale.

And then she was sucking in a sharp breath as if she was just surfacing from being under water. "I can't," she gasped so softly he could hardly hear it and then before he could so much as blink, let alone hold on to her, she was scrambling to her feet and then she was running, fleeing, up the stairs until he heard the sound of her door being firmly closed.

Leaving him alone.

It all happened so fast, he couldn't comprehend it, stayed staring blankly, unmoving, for he didn't know how many minutes. Going from nervousness to complete and utter elation and lust and love to _this_ in the span of mere seconds had left him almost dizzy from the emotional whiplash and it later occurred to him to be thankful for it because he was too stunned to even feel any hurt, only dimly aware of it like the beginnings of a wound, not quite fully comprehended yet but with the awareness that it was going to hurt like hell when the reality of it registered.

_What the hell had just happened? _

It was the first coherent thought his mind managed to hold on to—the first coherent thought and the second and the third and the hundredth…

_What the hell had just happened? _

He would have said he was used to being surprised by Kate Beckett and he frequently felt uncertain around her but he liked to think he knew her pretty well by now—he _did_ know her pretty well by now—and he could generally understand her reasoning for doing things. He understood why she was so independent, why she found it so hard to trust people.

But tonight—no, he didn't get it.

She cared about him, a lot, he didn't really doubt that anymore. Not after the last few days, after what she'd said to him, the way she'd smiled at him. She had to care about him, even if she might not love him (yet)—and _she'd_ kissed him. Kissed him first, kissed him back.

He remembered the way her face had initially lit up after his confession, the memory soothing some of his hurt. She'd been _happy_ at first to hear that he was falling in love with her; he would swear to that.

But then she'd run, said she couldn't—couldn't what? Couldn't love him?—his heart shriveled up a little inside him at the very thought but he _couldn't_ quite believe that, not now, not when he still remembered her words these last few days and how happy she'd looked on hearing his confession. Couldn't be with him? That was more likely but _she_ had been the one to kiss him and… she had held his hand and smiled at him the way she had and talked to him about his heart and told him he'd made things easier—and from anyone else, he might believe that those little things were just that, little, even trivial things, but this was Kate Beckett and from her, he couldn't believe those things meant nothing. She might not have said outright that she wanted him, wanted to be with him, but everything she had said, all her looks and her smiles, had been… encouraging. As if she knew how he felt and what was more, wanted him to love her.

_Why_ had she run?

No, he didn't get it, didn't get it at all.

And now he was going to need to talk to her about this. This had gone too far _not_ to talk about.

_Oh shit. _His future happiness rested on his ability to force Kate Beckett into having a personal conversation (Kate Beckett, who was something of an expert at avoidance and not talking about personal things)—while she was staying in his loft because she had nowhere else to stay and most of the time, his daughter was around so they wouldn't be alone and would need to pretend as if everything was fine. (Whatever was going on between him and Kate, he wasn't about to subject Alexis to it.)

And then, whatever was going on in her mind to make her run—from him—he was going to have to try to convince her to change her mind.

_Oh shit. _

He suddenly remembered what he'd thought that night just weeks ago, after the Scott Dunn case had ended, when he'd realized for the first time just how serious he was about Beckett. God, he'd had no idea—no idea at all how challenging Kate Beckett could be and how frustrating or how deeply he would fall in love with her—but he'd been right.

He was so doomed.

_~To be continued…~_

* * *

A/N 2: I know you all must hate me right now but before you kill me, I promise we'll find out what Kate was thinking and yes, there's going to be a happy Caskett ending, and no, it's not going to take long.

*runs and hides*


	21. Chapter 21

Author's Note: The begging and the threatening reviews to the last chapter persuaded me to post this next chapter quickly. This chapter is on the short side because what was originally intended to be one chapter was getting entirely too long so it ended up being split up into two. Consider this step one of Kate's penance (of sorts) and the explanation I know you're all waiting for.

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 21_

By the next morning, Kate had run out of names to call herself, in English at least, all of them centering around some version of _idiot_ and _coward_. She had moved on to applying Russian epithets to herself.

She'd panicked and she'd run and she couldn't imagine what Castle must think of her now—what if he had finally realized that she was more trouble than she was worth, that she was a coward who'd run like a frightened rabbit when he'd just admitted that he was falling in love with her. (After the way she'd just treated him, why would he fall in love with her?)

She knew that she was damaged, that her mom's death had broken her and made her build up her defenses so that she would never be so broken again. Knew that she was just… afraid…

And in that moment when he'd said he was falling in love with her, all the fears—the terror—she'd been fighting back for most of the day had flooded over her, overpowering her, and she had reacted in the only, instinctive way she knew—by running.

She was still afraid—she hated how afraid she still was—she wanted, so badly, to be able to go back to being the Katie her mom had been proud of, the Katie who never let fear hold her back from something she wanted. But that Katie had never suffered real loss, had not known how cruel life could be. That Katie had been brave out of sheer innocence, out of ignorance. The bravery of the very young who didn't really know enough to be afraid. That Katie was gone, had been killed by the same blade that had taken her mom's life.

But she'd finally, finally kissed Castle as she'd been thinking about doing for… oh, since basically the day they'd met, if she was going to be honest… and for those few seconds, she'd forgotten and the world had been perfect and new and life so sweet. But then the fear had come back, swamped her, until she was drowning in it. Until she could barely breathe, so that by the time she'd made it upstairs to her room, she'd collapsed onto her bed, a trembling, hyperventilating wreck.

Broken. Haunted by a nightmare that she couldn't shake, because she, of all people, knew that nightmares could come true, that people died and lives were left shattered in their wake.

And she hadn't been able to get it out of her head, none of it, the memory playing out in her mind over and over again all day like a reel of horror on a broken roll of film. The instant's moment of hesitation—she needed Coonan alive to find out who was behind her mother's murder—and then the shot ringing out, Castle's body jerking and then collapsing like a puppet whose strings had been cut—her own shot, too late, too late, because she'd hesitated for just a second. Falling to her knees by Castle, her hands covered in his blood—oh god, his _blood_ on her hands—his labored breathing—and then his eyes, his terrified, beseeching eyes—his voice as he gasped, "Kate… Alexis…"—and she hadn't been able to talk.

Somehow that was the worst of it. She hadn't been able to talk; her throat had refused to function, she had no voice. She hadn't promised him she would take care of Alexis and of Martha, which was possibly the only thing she could have done to comfort him in that moment. She hadn't told him she loved him. She had no words. She'd only been able to stare at him, her hands covered in his blood, mute, useless. She had only been able to watch the life, the light, fade out of his eyes. She shuddered all over again at the memory, the image that seemed to have been tattooed onto her brain. Oh god, his _eyes_. His beautiful eyes so… blank… No, _that_ was the worst part because it was so unutterably _wrong_. Castle's eyes always had such life in them, the spark of his vitality, his youthful spirit.

She hadn't been able to shake the soul-crushing horror of it, not when it seemed that every time she blinked, she saw the image of his staring, lifeless eyes. A tiny part of her—entirely irrationally—had been so helplessly furious at her own subconscious because it had made looking at Castle, seeing his eyes, that had always before been a source of secret joy, painful.

It had taken all day but she'd finally managed to push the memory aside, distracted by Alexis and by Martha. Kate had never felt such a rush of affection for Martha as she had last night, for the woman's vivid warmth, the sheer vibrance of her presence and her personality. When Martha was in one of her ultra-gregarious, dramatic moods, as she had been last night in a way that Kate hadn't seen before, even in these last weeks staying at the loft, she practically blazed with energy and Kate had entirely understood what it meant that Martha Rodgers was an actress. It had been easy to imagine this Martha Rodgers commanding attention on a stage so that no one, even people sitting far away tucked away into the back corner seats of a theatre, could have failed to feel and respond to the force of her personality.

It had been exactly what Kate needed and she had finally started to feel her equilibrium return, started to feel more like herself.

And then with Castle, hearing that he wanted to host a fundraiser for a scholarship to honor her mother's memory—oh, how she loved him—but ironically, or not, it was the force and power and realization of just how much she loved him that had sent her reeling into terror again. Because the only people she'd loved with so much of herself, with all her heart, had been her parents. And she knew what it was like to lose that love.

And she'd suddenly realized that if anything happened to Castle, if she lost Castle the way she had lost her mother, she'd never recover from it.

And she was terrified. Terrified of loving him so much, terrified at the thought of anything happening to him.

And when he'd confessed that he was falling in love with her—what she'd hoped to hear—somehow, in that moment, her nightmare had returned until for a few fleeting seconds, all she saw, all she'd been able to see, had been the image, the memory, that had been seared onto her mind. His blank, staring, lifeless eyes.

She had panicked and she'd run.

And oh god, she couldn't imagine how that must have _hurt_ him.

In the end, it was the thought of Castle's pain that had finally broken through her fear. Because as afraid as she was, she couldn't—she _couldn't_—bear the thought that she had hurt him.

She remembered the look on his face, the sound of his voice, as he'd said, _before we do… this, you need to know I think I'm falling in love with you._ He was falling in _love_ with _her_. He'd laid his heart on the line and told her he was falling in love with her—with so much more bravery than she had—and she'd fled. And she knew that must have hurt him terribly.

It would serve her right if she lost him now, if this last piece of cowardice succeeded in pushing him away—but oh, she couldn't, she _couldn't_ bear to think that. She couldn't lose him, not like this. (Not ever.) She had to talk to him, admit just how much of an idiot and a coward she was, and tell him that she… loved him, wanted to be with him. She didn't kid herself that it would be easy—her throat felt like it would close it on itself just from the thought of how much she would need to tell him—but in the end, she realized what her dad had really been saying to her in making a decision based on what she wanted, not what she was afraid of.

She was still afraid but, as she remembered reading once, courage was not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else was more important than fear.*

Courage was a choice.

And Kate made her choice.

She chose Castle. She chose love—the love she felt for him and the love she hoped he would feel for her—over her fear. There was something more important than her own fears. _He_ was more important.

If he would only forgive her for running. If he would let her explain, give her another chance.

She hadn't, quite, figured out what she was going to say to him but she thought, she hoped, that seeing him again would help. He was, still, her friend, the best friend she had, with due apologies to Lanie. She just needed to see him again, to see his familiar face, his eyes, just… him, the person who made her feel safest, and she thought she would find the words. She _hoped_ she would find the words.

With all that, she couldn't quite decide if she was more relieved or disappointed to find that she was the first person ready when she made it downstairs in the morning. She knew Alexis was awake but was still getting ready in her own room and Castle—Castle was nowhere in sight.

Admittedly, it wasn't unusual for her to be the first person dressed and ready to go; Kate was an early riser, especially after years of being a cop.

She tried to tell herself Castle's non-appearance at that moment didn't mean anything. She hadn't been expecting him to be sitting and waiting for her all night. So she followed the routine she had fallen into in these last weeks of staying at the loft, retrieving the newspaper from the front door and skimming through it while she waited for Castle's ridiculously complicated coffee maker to finish percolating. (It had taken her more than a week of her stay at the loft to figure the thing out, especially as she'd stubbornly refused his offers to show her how to work the dratted thing. She shouldn't need lessons in how to make coffee on one stupid machine. She'd finally figured it out, though, and felt ridiculously proud of herself, although she had glared at him when he'd congratulated her on it.)

The coffee done, she made herself a piece of toast and sipped her coffee as she continued skimming through the paper. Or tried to skim through the paper since she was only taking in about one word out of every twenty or so, most of her mind focused on Castle, on wondering when he was going to emerge from his bedroom and what she would say when he did.

She looked up at the sound of footsteps and managed a normal smile for Alexis. "Good morning, Alexis."

"Morning, Kate," Alexis answered with her usual cheer before she glanced towards Castle's office and his bedroom. "Dad's not awake yet?"

Kate's heart pinched a little at this mention of Castle, but she tried to answer casually. "I haven't seen him so I guess not."

"Hmm," Alexis murmured, a faint frown flickering across her face as she moved to make her own breakfast.

It was quiet for a few minutes as they both ate, Kate passing to Alexis the sections of the newspaper she'd already finished with, as she usually did in the morning.

It was comfortable until Alexis, after another glance at her watch and at Castle's office door, looked up at Kate. "Kate, did… anything happen last night after I went to bed?"

Kate tried very hard not to blush. "Like what?" she asked. _I might have kissed your dad and then run like the world's biggest coward_ _and now your dad might hate me. _But she couldn't say that. She didn't know what Castle was thinking right now but she did know that he would not want Alexis to be bothered by it (and Kate herself wasn't exactly eager to tell Alexis either.)

Alexis blushed, not meeting Kate's eyes, as she went on, "Dad didn't… um… go out anywhere, did he?"

Kate almost choked. "Go out?" And then to stay out all night? Castle hadn't—he wouldn't—he wasn't that sort of man.

"No, never mind," Alexis hurriedly said. "If Dad had plans to go out last night, he would have mentioned them to me and he never stays out all night without telling me and making sure someone else is around and anyway, he always comes back in time to see me in the morning."

Kate tried and failed not to picture what Castle would have done on these nights out in the past. "Maybe he stayed up really late writing and decided to sleep in," she suggested rather lamely, even as she knew she was wrong. Castle was avoiding her. She was certain of it, the suspicion growing and deepening with every second, every word Alexis said. He was avoiding her. He didn't want to see her, not this morning, certainly not with Alexis around. _Oh Castle._ He must not trust his ability to act normal around her in front of Alexis. Oddly, the thought cut straight through her and she didn't know why this, of all her fears over Castle's reaction, would be the one that stung so much, but somehow it did. That Castle would be reluctant to see her hurt—god, yes, that hurt—but weirdly, the thought that he was especially reluctant to see her when Alexis was around stung even more.

"Yeah, maybe," Alexis murmured but there was doubt in her voice.

And looking at the faint frown of concern on Alexis's face, Kate suddenly hated herself with a fresh surge of virulence that almost choked her. God, what was wrong with her—what had she done, disrupting one of the many ways in which Castle showed his devotion to Alexis? He would never willingly worry Alexis and to think that he must have decided that he would rather worry her like this, by not appearing in the morning, than by letting Alexis find out anything of what had happened between them…

She had to leave. She couldn't—wouldn't—let herself be the thing that prevented Castle from seeing Alexis this morning. She knew how much it meant to him to see Alexis every morning, remembered the way Castle had acted in the mornings when Alexis had been away on her little camping trip a few weeks ago. Castle had been subdued in those mornings, his eyes constantly going to the empty seat where Alexis usually sat. He had been better in the evenings because Alexis was, after all, not always around in the evenings, what with her activities and her friends, but she was always around in the morning. He had mentioned to her on one morning during Alexis's trip that one of the things he dreaded the most about Alexis leaving for college in a few years was how he wouldn't be able to see Alexis every morning, would no longer know what she had planned for the day. And she could see what it meant to Alexis, to not see her dad on this morning.

Kate _had_ to fix this.

It was still early—technically, Kate didn't need to leave for the precinct for another 20 minutes or so since it was only another paperwork day—but Kate abruptly finished up her coffee and slid off the stool.

"I'm going to head to work," Kate said, announcing this in a voice just a shade louder than she normally would, wondering, as she did so, if Castle would hear. "I have some stuff I need to get an early start on," she added, untruthfully.

"Oh, okay," Alexis responded. "I can let Dad know if I see him."

"I'll text your Dad to let him know but you can mention it too," Kate agreed and suddenly, she knew what she was going to do. The first step.

She hesitated—Alexis would wonder—but then Kate inwardly shrugged. Alexis might wonder but Alexis didn't fully understand the significance of coffee between her and Castle. She wasn't sure she could exactly explain it herself except that it had somehow become theirs.

She heard Lanie's voice in her head. _He's been bringing you coffee just the way you like it every day for more than a year._

Yes, he had been. It had started, she expected, as a way to show he was helpful, a way to reconcile her to his presence, and it had become one of the symbols of their friendship, their relationship. One of the hundreds of little ways by which Castle told her that he cared about her, that he… was falling in love with her…

She knew how he took his coffee and so she prepared a mug of fresh coffee for him and took it into his office, placing it in a prominent position in the center of his desk where he could hardly fail to notice it.

She had a sudden flash of a long-forgotten childhood memory, of the way her dad used to tap one finger against his right wrist three times, in a sort of mirror image of the gesture for the time. She remembered the way her mom used to smile a small, private little smile at the gesture and how she, when she'd been very young—maybe 6 or so—had asked her mom why her dad tapped his wrist like that. And her mom had explained that it was part of a secret sign language between her mom and dad and that when her dad tapped his right wrist like that, it meant "I love you." Kate smiled, even as she felt tears pricking at the back of her eyes, at the memory of how excited the young Katie had been, how grown-up and important she'd felt to be sharing this secret sign language with her parents, so that the next time her dad had tapped his wrist, she had announced, proudly, to her dad, "Mommy told me your secret so I know what that means." Her parents had both laughed and it had become something of a shared secret between the three of them.

But in spite of little Katie being "in" on the secret, Kate knew, now, that it had remained mostly a private lovers' sign between her parents. She remembered the three of them driving somewhere when her mom had been fretting aloud over something work-related and her dad had only said her mom's name in his quiet, calming way and then taken one hand off the steering wheel to tap his right wrist three times, and her mom had smiled and stopped fretting. The teenage Katie had rolled her eyes and turned up the volume on her Walkman but Kate remembered that fleeting moment now with a pang.

Coffee had become something like that for her and Castle—a little, innocuous gesture that meant so much more. Would mean so much more.

But first she had to fix things; she had to talk to him. Or write to him. It seemed only fitting since their relationship had started because of his writing.

Castle, as usual, had a pad of paper out on his desk and Kate quickly tore off the top sheet to leave him a note.

_Dear Castle, _

_I left to go to the precinct. _

She stopped. Oh bother, the idea of writing him a note had seemed perfect, a way of reaching out to him and still allowing him to see Alexis off this morning, but now she didn't know what to write. A note seemed too… impersonal a method to tell him for the first time how much she cared about him. She wanted to see his eyes, his face, when she told him.

But she could make a start.

_About last night, I'm so sorry. We need to talk. _

She stopped again. Those four words always had an ominous sound to them, would be more likely to send Castle running for the hills and resolving never to see her again than they would comfort him.

She found herself remembering his amazing offer last night, to set up a scholarship fund in her mother's name. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her, leaving even the jewelry box Castle had given her behind. It was… so much… and to know that he'd cared so much about her mom's life as to look up her mom's law school and the type of law she'd practiced… It had shaken her a little. Her thoughts of her mother were always, inevitably perhaps, so entangled with the way her mom had died that Kate knew she sometimes lost sight of the way her mom had _lived_, that her mom's life could not and should not be reduced only to her death. She would be reminded of that sometimes, usually in talking with her dad, about her mom's life, the work her mom had done and how much her mom had believed in it. Remembered her mom quoting, "You shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free," when talking about the work she did.**

Castle, who had never met her mom, had thought of this perfect way to honor her mom's memory. And at that moment, Kate could no more have kept herself from kissing him than she could have stopped her heart from beating. And it had been amazing.

And then… she had panicked and ruined it. And hurt him in the process. Hurt _him_, who had done so much to try to make her happy.

She had to fix things. And she could start with telling him another truth, one that she knew he would appreciate.

_The idea about a scholarship fund in my mom's name is a wonderful one. Thank you. It's the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. I can't tell you how much it means to me. I know my mom would appreciate it too. I never told you but my mom liked your books. That was why I started to read them and then I realized why my mom loved them so much. Your books mean so much to me. They changed my life. _

_We do need to talk. There's a lot I need and want to tell you. _

_Until then… _

_xxx –Kate_

Kate felt a little self-conscious signing the note like that—it wasn't at all like her—but if anything would reassure him that, whatever else, she didn't, at all, regret their kiss, it would be showing him that she fully wanted (and intended) to kiss him again.

She centered the note beneath the mug of coffee and then went to retrieve her gun from his safe, deliberately making rather more noise than she normally did so that Castle would hear it from his bedroom. She didn't doubt that he was awake—and hurting—and everything in her seemed to be tugging her towards him as if he exerted some sort of magnetic force (maybe he did) but she resisted. She did need to go to work and he would want to see Alexis before she left for school—and seeing Castle in his bedroom for the first time would not be conducive to actual talking—or to letting her go to work or him seeing Alexis before she left.

Kate managed a smile and a wave for Alexis. "Have a good day, Alexis."

"You too, Kate. See you tonight." Alexis returned the smile and somehow, Kate felt better, more hopeful. Alexis had once mentioned how Castle used to sing the chorus of the old song, "You Are My Sunshine," to her when she was little. Now, Kate suddenly remembered the line from the song—_You make me happy when skies are gray_—and thought that she understood the sentiment, understood exactly why Castle had said that he liked it best when Alexis smiled. She loved this girl too, loved Castle's entire family.

Her heart clenched a little in her chest. Oh god, if Castle didn't forgive her, if he didn't give her another chance, she would lose his family too. Not because he would insist on it—she couldn't see Castle being spiteful, even if he gave up on her—but because seeing Martha and Alexis would hurt too much, to be reminded every time of him and all she'd lost.

To be only his friend—he would let them still be friends, she thought—but she already knew she couldn't do it. She could not be only his friend, could not stand by and watch him date someone else. Watch him fall for someone else.

It was too late for her now. She could either be with him, fully, in every way—or she could lose his presence in her life completely.

And she couldn't bear the thought of that.

_Oh, please, Castle…_

_~To be continued…~_

_*_ "Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear." - Ambrose Redmoon

** From the Bible, John 8:32.


	22. Chapter 22

Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, for reading and reviewing! Another relatively brief chapter, borrowing some dialogue from "Knockout."

* * *

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 22_

Kate made her way to the precinct but couldn't bring herself to stop off at their usual coffee shop. Buying her own coffee—and buying only one coffee—on her way to work seemed impossibly depressing. She could hardly believe it of herself but it was true. Oh god, she was so doomed. No matter what happened between her and Castle, she suddenly knew that she would never be able to drink coffee again without thinking of him.

She settled at her desk, trying not to let her gaze wander too often to Castle's empty chair as she pulled out a stack of paperwork and plunged into it with a sort of ferocious concentration as if to prove that she could still function at work, that she could focus on her work without thinking of Castle. Prove that she was still the capable Detective Beckett in her professional life, even if she might have just wrecked the most important relationship of her life.

She succeeded for about 45 minutes until Esposito showed up.

"Hey, Beckett, where's Castle?"

She hid a wince at the sharp tug of guilt and worry she felt at the mention of his name and pasted on as casual an expression as she could manage. "He had some other stuff to do this morning so he'll be in later." She hoped.

Ryan appeared almost on cue, nodding at Espo before he greeted her. "Morning, Beckett—no coffee? Where's—"

"Castle's busy this morning," she answered quickly before he could say the name.

"Oh, okay," Ryan paused and then added, a little diffidently, "You feeling better today? Castle said you had a headache yesterday."

She knew she'd been off her game yesterday but she hadn't realized the boys had noticed, let alone asked Castle about it. Silly of her, come to think of it. The boys were detectives too and they'd been working with her for years now.

She forced a small smile. "I'm fine, Ryan." Would be fine, if Castle read her note, if he accepted her apology, if he didn't give up on her entirely. (What kind of idiot ran away when the man she loved admitted that he was falling in love with her? If she'd intentionally set out to hurt Castle, make him feel rejected, she could hardly have been more effective.)

Espo's attention was hailed by LT and Ryan returned to his own desk while Kate plunged back into her paperwork.

Only to have her concentration shatter like glass about an hour later, awareness rippling through her body like a sixth sense and she knew what she was going to see when she looked up.

He was here.

He was here and—she lost her breath as if she'd just been punched—he was carrying two cups of coffee, just like usual. She breathed again, a host of butterflies suddenly appearing in her stomach. She felt suddenly, ridiculously, nervous, even shy. Shy! She was never shy—except, as in so many things, it seemed, where he was concerned.

He was here and for the moment, she just let her eyes drink in the sight of him because he looked so good. He was always handsome—ruggedly handsome, his voice in her head interjected—but somehow, maybe from the sheer relief and joy of seeing him when she hadn't been sure she would, his appearance hit her with a new impact, a visceral tug in the pit of her belly. And for a second, her eyes assessed him as if she'd never seen him before, as if he were an attractive stranger, suddenly feeling oddly off-balance in the rush of undiluted, physical attraction. Taking in his height, the perfect styling of his hair, his broad shoulders in his dark burgundy shirt, his mouth…

She was in love with him for everything that he was, the sort of man that he was, but she was utterly and completely in lust with him too.

He'd been waylaid by Esposito, who looked as if he was giving Castle a hard time about something, maybe teasing him about showing up for work so late, as Castle had one of his teasing smirks on his face as he gave a laughing riposte.

Kate couldn't help her smile—he was here, he'd brought coffee for her, he looked his usual, smiling self, he was here—and as if he'd sensed her gaze, his eyes met and held hers and even from across the length of the bullpen, she felt the impact of his gaze like a charge of electricity through her body.

(She had the sudden, fuzzy thought that she knew, now, what she should have done, what she should always do, when she was afraid, when her fears returned, as she knew they would. She should open her eyes and look at him. See him, focus on him, until the reality of his life and his presence calmed her.)

He made some half-absent reply to Espo, his eyes never leaving hers, and then he was excusing himself and coming toward her and she would have stood up, gone to meet him halfway, but found her distracted mind couldn't quite command her body to move and so she stayed where she was, frozen in place.

And then he was there, sitting down in his chair, and handing her a coffee. "Hi."

She took the coffee, her fingers brushing against his and she felt a shiver of sensation streak up her arm from that simple touch. "You're here," she responded inanely. Oh god, was that really her voice? She sounded… breathless and, yes, shy, and a little uncertain and so unlike herself that she felt herself flushing.

But it made him smile, the corners of his lips curving upwards, his eyes becoming brighter. "Sorry I wasn't around this morning."

He was apologizing to her? The thought broke something open inside her chest and she scooted a little closer to him, one hand automatically reaching out but then stopping just short of where his hand rested on her desk as she belatedly remembered that they were in the precinct, in full view of everyone in the bullpen. "No, I'm the one who's sorry," she said quickly, urgently, although she did remember to keep her voice low. "I'm so sorry, Castle. I shouldn't have run off like that—it was so _stupid_ of me and I'm sorry. I'd totally understand if you decided you didn't—"

"Kate," he interrupted her, quietly, and she broke off, forgetting whatever she'd been about to say at the way he was looking at her, at his use of her first name in the precinct. "I got your note."

She flushed, her heartbeat abruptly picking up even though she'd known he must have read her note, would hardly be here in the precinct, with coffee just as usual, if he hadn't. Her eyes fell of their own volition to focus on his mouth as he went on. "Did you… uh… mean it?"

At that moment, the only part of her note she could really remember was the way she'd signed it. "I meant it," she said, her voice not much more than a breath, and then added, her eyes still focused on his mouth, "I meant all of it, every letter."

He knew what she meant, what she was referring to. He sucked in his breath and she watched the movement of his Adam's apple as he swallowed, hard. As usual, he hadn't buttoned the top buttons of his shirt so she could see his throat, the small dip of his clavicle, and she suddenly wanted to press her lips to that small hollow, nuzzle her nose against his neck, inhale the scent of him.

The sound of a phone ringing somewhere in the bullpen cut through her foggy brain and she managed to drag her eyes up to meet his eyes again—on second thought, that wasn't a good idea either—her breath tangled in her throat. Ohh. His eyes had gone dark, almost midnight blue with desire, and she vaguely realized that her thoughts must have been written clearly all across her face, at least to him, who seemed to read her better than anyone she knew.

Oh god, she wanted, so desperately, to kiss him (again) and she knew he wanted her and she swore the temperature in the bullpen had just gone up significantly and she was trying, very hard, to remember why exactly she couldn't just climb right into his lap…

"Detective Beckett!"

Captain Montgomery's crisp, commanding tone cut straight through the low buzz of conversation in the bullpen and her own lust-fogged mind in an instant and she jerked to attention.

"Yes, sir." _Oh shit!_

Montgomery looked between her and Castle—_oh shit_—and then met her eyes again. "A word, if you please, Detective." In spite of the phrasing, it wasn't, of course, a request.

Kate inwardly swore even as she pulled herself together, snapping back into full-on Detective Beckett mode, and not allowing herself to so much as look in Castle's direction as she nodded briskly. "Of course, sir."

She strode confidently into the Captain's office, flatly refusing to give away her unease by so much as the flicker of a muscle, even as the Captain closed the door firmly behind him and moved to stand behind his desk, facing her.

Montgomery raised an eyebrow at her as he asked, rather sardonically, "Do you not have enough work to do, Beckett, that you can sit around gazing longingly into Castle's eyes while you're on duty?"

She felt herself blushing hotly and silently damned the rising color in her cheeks. Gazing longingly into Castle's eyes—_oh god oh god oh god_. Now was really when the floor should have opened up and allowed her to jump inside it if the universe had any mercy at all—which, of course, it didn't. "Sorry, sir. It won't happen again, sir."

"Hmph. See that it doesn't, Detective."

"Yes, sir."

Montgomery eyed her for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before he began, "You aren't denying that there's something going on between you and Castle?"

Kate blushed hotter but the idea of lying to her Captain about this entered her head only to be dismissed immediately. She wasn't that good a liar; the Captain was too good a cop not to be able to spot such a pitiful lie; and she had denied this thing between her and Castle for too long as it was, could not deny it any more. "No, sir, I'm not."

Montgomery nodded slowly. "I trust I don't need to remind you of the NYPD regulations against fraternization between partners."

_Oh shit!_ Kate stiffened. The regulations had entirely slipped her mind, too focused on her own internal turmoil and Castle to even think of it. Oh god, was she finally accepting Castle's importance to her outside of work only to lose his presence beside her at work? Her gut clenched—she didn't want to lose him at work. She liked—loved—having him with her at work, brightening her days, making her smile with his coffee and his little jokes and his crazy theories. She loved the way their minds worked together. But she knew even as she thought it, that if it meant giving up her relationship with Castle outside of work, she couldn't do that. She loved working with him but she wanted him in her _life_ more.

Oh god, how was she going to tell Castle? And what if—she didn't think he would—but what if he decided he would rather keep up with their work at the precinct than really be with her? She knew how much he liked coming into the precinct; it was obvious in the way he invariably came in, for at least a few hours, even on days when it was only paperwork and he really had no role to play in that. It was in the way he didn't grumble, too much, about being woken up in the middle of the night for a body but, whatever the hour, always showed up, and almost always with coffee for them both. It wasn't as if he was obligated to show up; as a volunteer, he was entirely free to only work on the cases that interested him but he always showed up. The only times she could remember of him not showing up at a crime scene were if he had obligations relating to Nikki Heat and Black Pawn but other than that, he stayed, working late and working weekends alongside her and the boys. What if he decided he valued what they had at the precinct more than he wanted to be with her, with all her issues, her defenses, her cowardice? What if he chose the precinct over her—closed-off and prickly as she was? She tried to tell herself she was being silly but her lingering insecurities whispered at her.

"Now, Castle is not on the NYPD payroll so the regulations don't technically apply to him," Montgomery continued and Kate relaxed fractionally. "However, keep it out of the precinct as much as possible so it doesn't raise any eyebrows or cause any grumbling about preferential treatment. Understood?"

Kate managed a faint smile, feeling a rush of relief. "Yes, sir."

Montgomery nodded, his expression and his tone softening. "You know, I've rather been expecting this to happen since pretty much the day Castle showed up."

Kate stared. "You… have, sir?"

"Castle hasn't exactly been subtle about his interest in you, Beckett," Montgomery said rather dryly and then added more seriously, "I wasn't sure how serious he was but then he gave up $100,000 for a long-shot chance at getting your mom's murderer."

Kate bit the inside of her lip, her heart twisting inside her. Yes, she should have realized months ago how much Castle cared, how much he was willing to do for her. She didn't know why she hadn't except that it was… easy… to overlook how deeply Castle's emotions ran because he spent most of his time disguising them behind his childish humor and his cocky, frivolous persona. But she—she who spent her life finding the truth in spite of people's equivocations—she should have known better.

"I was ready to kick him out last summer when he did whatever-it-was that made you so mad at him."

Kate blinked. "But the Mayor… I thought he insisted…"

"This is my house, Beckett, you know that. If you'd seriously told me that you couldn't work with Castle any more, I would have told the Mayor that and Castle would have been gone. I call the shots here when it comes down to it and the Mayor isn't going to interfere high-handedly in an internal matter like this over a police captain's head, not unless he wants a fight with One PP."

"Oh." Kate was suddenly, belatedly, thankful that she hadn't known this last year after Castle had first started shadowing her—or last summer when she'd been so angry at him. At the time, she very well might have tried to get Castle kicked out—and never realized all that she would lose if she succeeded.

"I could have kicked Castle out at any time and I was even ready to do so if it turned out that he caused any problems with you and your team but instead, your team's case closure rate went up after Castle joined and Beckett, I saw that you were having fun with him around and I know you weren't having any fun before."

Kate had to smile a little at that. "He does make it more fun."

"Kate."

Kate startled a little at the Captain's use of her first name, which he almost never used. "Captain?"

"You remember what I've told you, that our job is to speak for the dead."

She nodded. "Yes, of course, sir."

"That's what we owe them, to speak for them after the wicked rob them of their voices. But Kate, we don't owe them our lives. This relationship with you and Castle—it's a good thing. Your life has been all about the job for too long, Kate. It's about time you had something outside of work to pay attention to."

Kate felt a rush of affection for this man, her mentor, the man who had trained her how to be a homicide detective, the man who had taught her so much about what it meant to be a cop. "I'm not sure I know how to do this," she admitted after a moment. "I don't know if I remember how to have a life outside of the job."

"I won't say it's going to be easy but Kate, you're the most tenacious person I've ever met. If you care about Castle even half as much as it looked like you did from the way you were looking at him just now, you'll find a way."

Kate ducked her head to try to hide her blush. God, had she really been so obvious about how she felt about Castle? Or was it a reflection of the fact that Captain Montgomery was the best cop she'd ever met and knew her better than any other cop, including Esposito and Ryan?

Montgomery sat down in his chair and waved a dismissive hand. "Just remember, no unprofessional behavior in my precinct and we'll be fine. Now go out there and get back to work, Detective."

She gave him a small smile. "Yes, sir."

Castle had straightened up in his chair, his posture making him appear all that was professional, and Kate couldn't help but rest her hand briefly on his shoulder as she passed. (What, it was only his shoulder and it was only for a second. It was entirely within the bounds of professional behavior. But she was, she thought, already in serious danger of becoming addicted to touching Castle in any way, being _able_ to touch Castle in any way. She'd been resisting the urge to touch him for so long and now, she suspected the floodgates had been opened.)

She felt him tense momentarily from surprise and then relax, his wide eyes immediately flying to her face as she sat down at her desk again.

"Beckett, is everything all right?" he asked quietly, his voice preserving a little bit of manufactured distance and there was something else too, a faint thread of something in his tone that caught at her.

Oh. He wasn't really expecting her to tell him. He asked—of course he asked—but he was rather expecting her to deflect, to evade, because it was what she did. She didn't talk about things, anything that made her at all uncomfortable. It was certainly her m.o. when it came to her personal life but it held true for her professional life too. She talked, some, to Lanie, on occasion, about some of the stresses of her job; for that matter, her friendship with Lanie had pretty much begun with them bonding over what it was like as a woman in a workplace and a profession populated almost entirely by men. And then she hadn't really wanted anyone to know how hard her job was, had simply wanted to prove herself, focusing on getting the job done, on becoming and then being the best homicide detective she could be.

She was confident in her professional abilities but she still didn't talk about its challenges—not with any other cops, not even Espo or Ryan because she never liked anyone knowing about her vulnerabilities—and certainly not with her dad because she didn't like to worry him.

But she could talk to Castle. Had started to talk to Castle already, in some ways, remembering their conversation the night after Victor Racine had been arrested.

And this conversation with Montgomery—she'd planned to mention it to Castle later as it concerned him but now, realizing that he didn't really expect a response, she changed her mind. Saying she would tell him later would be another deflection and she couldn't—wouldn't—do that again. Not now.

Apprehension and nervousness were making the butterflies in her stomach start to riot but she forcibly ignored them. "Montgomery told me," she began, keeping her voice low so no one else could hear them, and addressing the words mostly to her desk rather than him (because she was afraid if she allowed herself to look directly at him again, she would inevitably end up distracted, caught by his eyes and his mouth, no matter what she'd promised Montgomery), "that I should stop gazinglonginglyintoyoureyes and get back to work," she finished in a rush, watching him out of the corner of her eyes.

He choked. His eyes flared, his cheeks reddening, and he took a hasty gulp of his coffee but then, in his very distraction, some of it went down the wrong pipe and he ended up almost doubled over as he coughed and wheezed.

On second thought, blurting it out like that and shocking him may not have been the best idea.

She watched him with some concern but he recovered from his coughing fit and she relaxed, an irrepressible smirk tugging at her lips, as he gaped at her. She supposed it was a little mean of her but he was the one who was an expert at flustering her out of her usually stoic composure since the day he'd barged into her organized life and refused to leave, insinuating his way into her work, into her consciousness, and finally into her heart. So she couldn't help but take a little pleasure out of being the one to fluster him now—and anyway, he was really… cute… when he was flustered like this.

"Montgomery said that?" he asked, his voice sounding slightly winded still.

She nodded a little. "Direct quote."

She watched as his eyes widened, visibly trying to process this new reality.

"And you… uh… told him about… us?" he stumbled slightly over the question, hesitating at the last word.

_Us. _It was amazing the impact such a small word had on her, the implications of it both terrifying and exhilarating all at once. She suddenly felt, again, as if she were standing on the edge of a cliff, one irrevocable step away from… everything she'd been denying and running from for so long. _Us. _Beckett and Castle. Kate and Rick.

She heard in her mind an echo from not that long ago, when he'd been named one of the New York Ledger's Most Eligible Bachelors and her name had been paired with his in the blurb. _Rumored to be romantically involved… _Remembered the way they'd argued and the way she'd told him so firmly, _There is no us._ At the time, she'd meant it. At the time, it had been true. And she suddenly knew he was remembering the same thing, all her vehement denials that there was anything beyond him shadowing her for research between them.

And looking at him, seeing the faint question lingering in his eyes, she knew he needed the words. He was a writer and they had, after all, been very good at dancing around the ultimate issue, at communicating through subtext. They did need to really talk.

And this was the beginning.

She met his eyes and took the last step off the cliff. "Yes, I did."

There was an "us."

"And the Captain was okay with… us?"

She gave him a faint smile before she turned her gaze back to the paperwork in front of her. "He said it was fine as long as we kept it professional in the precinct." What else Captain Montgomery had said really would need to wait until they were alone.

He was quiet for a long minute, long enough that she picked up her pen and tried, rather desultorily, to return to this next form she needed to fill out.

"So," he finally said conversationally, "I guess having sex in the break room is out."

It was her turn to choke. Her hand jerked, twitching in the surge of arousal that swept through her at his words, the mental images that accompanied it, leaving a jagged line across the form and her eyes flew to his smirking face and his eyes, dancing with familiar mischief.

Oh. The bastard. He'd done that on purpose. He'd seen her smirk at his discomfiture and had decided to get his revenge.

She tried to hold on to her irritation—he had ensured that she'd wrecked this form and would need to start over—but couldn't manage it. And judging from the look on his face, her "glare" was ending up at something more approaching affectionate indulgence than anything else.

It was oddly reassuring to have him trying to get a rise out of her like this. As usual. After all, he hadn't made much secret out of enjoying the fact that he could fluster her out of all countenance, just as she'd grown to enjoy their back-and-forth and the times when she was able to get the better of him. The push-and-pull quality of their interaction wasn't going to change; they would still be themselves. Still friends, still partners—as well as lovers. (She felt a hot wave of desire sweep through her at the thought. Oh god. They were going to be lovers.)

She finally found her voice again. "That is _never_ gonna happen, Castle. Ever," she added to put more emphasis to the statement.

He heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Spoilsport."

His pout had her considering, for one crazy second, dragging him into the supply closet and… engaging in some seriously unprofessional behavior—because it was so entirely unfair the way his pout drew her eyes to his mouth so all she could think about was how it had felt to kiss him yesterday, the feel of his mouth on hers, his tongue…

_No, no, stop it, Kate! Professional, act professional. _

And, she reminded herself, she didn't want their first time—_her last, first time_, an unhelpful voice in her mind inserted—to happen in a dingy, dark supply closet like some tawdry affair.

"Just behave, Castle," she scolded—tried to scold but her voice came out sounding soft and yielding. She tried again, attempting to sound like her usual teasing self. "Assuming that's even possible for you."

"I can behave!" he protested with mock petulance. "I can be a model of good behavior."

He widened his eyes in his best innocent expression and she felt something inside her chest melt because, really, it was entirely possible he was the most adorable man on the planet with that look on his face.

And he was hers.

Wait. What? Hers? She'd never been inclined to be a possessive girlfriend before—but this was Castle and he was different.

And hers—just as she was his.

She leaned in towards him, giving him as seductive a look as she could manage through her lashes and throwing as much sensual promise into her quiet voice as she could as she promised, huskily, "Just wait until tonight, Castle."

His eyes widened and she heard him suck in his breath sharply. "I'll behave," he promised immediately. "No more distracting you, I swear."

She couldn't help her small smile because he was just so… cute…

And god, she really, really needed for her shift to be over. Now. Ten minutes ago. Because for just about the first time in… oh, the day she'd first got her badge, Kate honestly didn't think she could concentrate on work at all.

Her own words returned to her. _Just wait until tonight. _

Wait until tonight. She could do that. Of course she could. She was Detective Kate Beckett, a mature, responsible adult with self-control.

Of course she could wait and concentrate on her work in the meantime.

She definitely could.

Couldn't she?

_~To be continued…~_

* * *

A/N 2: Because we all know Captain Montgomery was a Caskett supporter from the beginning…


	23. Chapter 23

Author's Note: Another very long chapter but I think you'll all forgive me for it considering what happens in it. Some familiar lines of dialogue ahead from a number of episodes that I won't identify because I'm sure you will all recognize them quite easily. Enjoy!

* * *

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 23_

It was entirely possible he was dreaming. Or hallucinating.

Castle didn't think he was—but then again after the first time he had pinched himself this morning in his study on reading Kate's note for the first time, he had abruptly decided that if he was dreaming, he didn't want to wake up.

Because what Kate's note had said—or implied—was almost everything he'd dreamed of (and he definitely wanted to hear more about how his books had changed her life—they had? Really?) and then the way she had looked at him and smiled at him when he had gone to the precinct had been even closer to the stuff of his dreams. No, had been _more_ than he'd dreamed because even in his dreams, he'd never quite imagined that Kate Beckett would ever look at him so… openly… while in the middle of the bullpen. Never quite imagined that he could look at her and wish desperately that he could kiss her (well, that part wasn't at all new) and that she would look back at him and look as if _she_ wanted to kiss _him_ quite as badly (that part was definitely new)—when they were in the precinct in the middle of the workday.

That was probably when he first started to be convinced that whatever this was, it wasn't a dream. Even his over-active imagination had balked at imagining Beckett would look at him like… well, like _that_… when they were in the middle of the precinct, surrounded by other cops, while she was on duty. (His daydreams involving Beckett in the precinct, not all of which were sexual, had occurred after hours, when the bullpen was empty, on one of those nights when they stayed late because of a case.)

He knew her and when she was on duty and in the precinct, she was always professional, the cool, competent Detective Beckett. But today, even though they were in the precinct, all he saw when he looked at her was Kate, the softer, more open side of her that until now he'd only ever really seen in the loft when she was off duty. It was in the way she'd looked at him earlier, in the way she'd talked to him. It was in the way she kept glancing at him throughout the day even as she was ostensibly focused on her paperwork, quick sidelong glances through her lashes. She was trying, he could tell, to be her usual Detective Beckett self, especially after what Castle imagined was the minor scolding she'd received from Captain Montgomery earlier (Montgomery had told Beckett to stop gazing longingly into his eyes!—_really?_), but well, he hadn't spent more than a year watching Beckett (creepily staring at, he heard her voice in his mind) not to be able to notice the difference. She kept glancing at him and whenever their eyes would meet—which happened fairly frequently since, to be honest, Castle couldn't be sure that he'd looked anywhere else but at Kate all day—she would blush faintly and a small smile, as if she couldn't help it, would escape, her gorgeous eyes sparkling with flecks of green.

And then there was the touching. She was driving him insane with the touching—but he thought that he would happily lose his mind and consider it a small price to pay for Kate to keep touching him like this. They were all subtle, fleeting touches, nothing that would break Montgomery's edict of professional behavior, but he still felt each and every one like jolts of electricity zipping along his nerves. All the more so because Beckett didn't touch him, not usually, and never in the precinct. Today—well, everything was different today. (He fleetingly wondered if he'd somehow stumbled into an alternate universe. Possible, but aside from Beckett, no one else was acting at all differently and everything about his life was still the same, and nothing had happened to somehow open up a portal into another universe.)

Today, she let her fingers brush against his when he handed her a cup of coffee (well, that wasn't so unusual but today, it was quite clearly deliberate and her fingers lingered). Her hand lightly brushed against his occasionally where it rested on her desk, her fingers briefly hooking around his before retreating. Whenever she stood up and passed by his chair, she touched his shoulder and, once, his hair (he'd never realized before that a touch on his hair could feel so erotic).

Eventually, however, her shift did end and he forced himself to stay in his seat and not leap up the moment the clock hit five but waited the few minutes until Beckett switched off her computer and stood up, giving him a quick, almost shy (Beckett shy?) smile.

"Come on, Castle, let's go home."

He decided then and there that this was the single most beautiful sentence he'd ever heard in his life, the most beautiful words in the English language. _Home._ Kate Beckett was calling his loft home. _Oh my god…_ He was the luckiest man on the face of the planet.

"Castle."

He blinked and returned to reality to see Beckett looking down at him, a teasing smirk now playing on her lips. "Castle, you still awake?"

He jerked to his feet. "Yeah."

He mentally shook himself—he was acting like a bumbling idiot—as he fell into step beside her. Beckett slowed to exchange goodbyes with the boys and he glanced over, through the window to the Captain's office where Montgomery was on the phone. Montgomery looked up and glanced towards the bullpen at the same moment and their eyes met.

Castle lifted a hand in acknowledgment and goodbye, suddenly hearing what Kate had said again. _Montgomery told me that I should stop gazing longingly into your eyes and get back to work. _He felt another wave of unreality roll over him—the Captain had really said that? And Beckett had _acknowledged_ it, tacitly admitted that she _had_ been gazing into his eyes—longingly!—he would have thought he was imagining things but he didn't think even his imagination would have concocted something like this.

Montgomery nodded in return, lifting a hand to his temple in a quick, almost-salute. And Castle had the sudden sense that Montgomery was almost, in a weird way, giving him permission to be in a relationship with Beckett. _Oh god._ He felt a pinch of an unidentifiable emotion in his chest because he knew how much Beckett respected the Captain, knew that the Captain was not just her boss but was her mentor, her friend, was like a second father to her—had probably been the closest thing to a father Beckett had in those years when Jim had been drowning in alcohol.

He blinked and turned back, managing an approximation of his usual smile as he said bye to the boys.

Pretty much the entire day, Castle had been looking forward to the elevator ride down, figuring that alone in the elevator, he could finally kiss Beckett the way he wanted to, collect on the promise in her note—but then as they were waiting for the elevator, Velazquez and LT and another uniform (Greggs? Gregson? He couldn't remember) joined them, all heading out for the day. Castle couldn't help his sigh as he and Beckett and the others stepped into the elevator but then he caught Beckett's quick glance and the faint, rather rueful smile flitting around the corners of her lips, and he suddenly felt much better at the realization that Beckett was disappointed too. Beckett had been thinking about kissing him in the elevator too. _Oh my god. _

The brief drive back to the loft from the precinct took place in an almost suffocating silence. Now that they were alone, he suddenly couldn't think of anything to say, not sure how to start this very necessary talk they needed to have. (Or to be strictly accurate, he couldn't think of anything to say that didn't involve blurting out some version of _I'm madly in love with you._ Which would not be very helpful and, after all, his admitting that he was falling in love with her yesterday had been the thing that had made her run from him and while he didn't really expect she would run again, he wasn't about to risk it.) Beckett seemed, he thought, equally at a loss. He felt her sidelong glances at him while she drove and while she gave him faint smiles whenever their gazes inevitably tangled, she didn't say anything either.

It was a relief—and Castle was rather guiltily unhappy that it was a relief—to walk into the loft and see Alexis in the kitchen cutting up lettuce for a salad, he guessed.

She sent them a smile of greeting, momentarily pausing in her cutting. "Hi Dad, Kate."

He returned Alexis's smile, moving into the kitchen to drop a kiss on her hair. "Hi, sweetie."

Alexis briefly tipped her head sideways to rest against his shoulder in one of her characteristic little gestures, one he particularly loved because it reminded him of the days when she'd been little, when she would tip her entire body and lean against his leg when she was tired or shy or upset about anything, in those days when she hadn't even been tall enough to come up to his waist.

He glanced over at Kate, automatically, to see that she was watching them, well, mostly looking at him, her eyes soft and warm, and he felt his heart stutter in his chest. She was looking at him, again, the way she sometimes had in the last few days, the look that never failed to make his heart react in his chest. Because in her eyes, her expression, he could swear he saw… an echo of his own heart. The look that made him almost certain that she loved him.

And he abruptly found himself wishing that Alexis wasn't there, for the first time in Alexis's life.

Later, he told himself, slipping his arm around Alexis in swift remorse and pressing another kiss to her hair. Alexis would most likely go up to her room soon after dinner to do her homework and then, he and Kate could talk and… do other things.

Kate gave him a small smile and then turned her attention to Alexis. "How can I help with dinner?"

Alexis looked up at Kate and answered and soon, the three of them were in the kitchen, falling into a comfortable rhythm, working in easy tandem, after a few missteps, to get dinner ready.

Alexis and Kate chatted lightly and easily while he stayed mostly silent, perfectly happy to listen to the two people he loved the most talk, starting with Alexis's day in school and then moving on to chat about Alexis's friends.

It was so perfectly, wonderfully domestic and for long minutes, he found himself indulging in the daydream that they really were a family, officially, that Kate was his wife. It was so close to the vision of the family he'd always wanted, the home life he'd always dreamed of and had never yet found. He wasn't, in most things, particularly traditional, but growing up as he had, with only his mother and moving around so much, he'd always dreamed of stability, had wanted the stereotypical American dream of a wife, kids, and a dog. He had largely given up on that dream ever coming true after his second divorce, when he'd mostly given up on the idea of love or marriage—but then he'd met Kate. Had fallen in love with Kate and in these past weeks, with Kate staying at the loft, the visions of that dream future had come back, stronger than ever, and so much more enticing because for the first time, they seemed so… close to being possible, so real.

Today, he listened to Kate and Alexis and couldn't help but feel a surge of hope that his dream would end up coming true. Not immediately, of course not, but soon, someday.

Dinner ready, they sat down to eat while Alexis started enthusing about the summer programs she was applying to. (He would never understand where Alexis had gotten her love of her studies; he was immensely thankful for Alexis's general maturity and responsibility and her good grades but baffled by it nonetheless.) He listened as Alexis recounted with some energy the basic facts about the program at Princeton, and then moved on to talking about the other programs she was applying to at NYU, UPenn, Harvard (he mentally frowned a little; that was a little too far away for his taste but then, Boston was just a few hours away so he would still be able to visit Alexis), and then Stanford. He stiffened. "Stanford?" he interrupted Alexis. "But that's… in California," he protested, aware that his voice had risen a little.

Alexis rolled her eyes and gave him her _silly Dad_ look. "I know where Stanford is, Dad."

"But… you said this program is six weeks long," he persisted. Six weeks! In California! On the other side of the country! He'd never been that far away from Alexis for that long! And he certainly wasn't ready to start now.

"Yes. So? All these programs are six or seven weeks long." Alexis's earlier excitement had dimmed until she was starting to look somewhere between dismayed and defiant (which was not an expression he was accustomed to seeing on Alexis's face) but for maybe the first time in Alexis's life, he didn't immediately react to her change of expression.

"But you—" he began, intending to blurt out that she couldn't go to Stanford for six whole weeks (she was too young and he was nowhere near ready for her to spend six weeks on the other side of the country) but Beckett—she was definitely Beckett at this moment—shot him a look that, even in his preoccupied state, shut him up.

"Tell me more about this program," Beckett interjected, turning back to Alexis after giving him a last look. "It sounds really neat. And Stanford is just beautiful; I think you might really like it there."

Alexis brightened up again as she answered and he tried, very hard, not to feel upset. After all, she was only applying to the program; she hadn't been admitted yet (although he couldn't imagine why any school in its right mind would reject Alexis) and maybe Alexis would choose another school. NYU sounded good to him. Right in the City; it would be perfect. Or Princeton or even UPenn would do; Philadelphia wasn't that far.

Then he startled, shocked out of his inner turmoil as he felt a hand—her hand—rest on his knee for a moment, her thumb lightly tracing over his kneecap. Her hand didn't rest there long, retreating as if she'd surprised even herself by the action, but he felt her phantom touch lingering on his knee for a while, well and truly distracted from brooding over Alexis. Which, he knew, had been her purpose. Beckett wasn't even looking at him, was still focused on Alexis, but she must have sensed his emotions, or just guessed at them, and taken that way to distract him, calm him.

Oh, how he loved her.

And he really, really wanted to kiss her.

For the first time in Alexis's life, he listened to her talk with only about half of his attention, the rest of his mind being taken up with counting down the minutes until dinner would be over and Alexis would go upstairs to do her homework, leaving him and Beckett alone.

He would have sworn it was the longest dinner in the history of the world but it was in actuality little more than an hour before Alexis was getting up to put her dirty plate in the sink and apologizing for not sticking around to help clean up, to which both he and Beckett told her in messy chorus not to worry about it. Alexis smiled and came over to brush a kiss against his cheek and he took the opportunity to wrap his arms around her, giving her a quick hug in an attempt to assuage his lingering guilt with his lack of attentiveness to her this evening, even if she hadn't noticed it (thanks mostly to Beckett, who had been able to focus on Alexis). Alexis extracted herself from his arms with a little laugh and then she disappeared upstairs.

And he and Beckett were alone. Finally.

He turned to look at Beckett only to see her quickly averting her eyes and busying herself clearing off the table with the sort of focus she usually reserved for work. It wasn't entirely surprising—he knew by now that Beckett hated to see dirty dishes left out, would never have been able to have any sort of conversation before the table had been cleared and the dirty dishes rinsed and put in the dishwasher. He moved to help her and tried, desperately, to convince himself that things were fine, that he wasn't almost choking on the awkwardness of it, the heaviness of the atmosphere that seemed crowded with everything they still needed to say. Except it wasn't true and he couldn't even make himself believe it for a second.

Over the last weeks, they had worked together to clear up after dinner dozens of times and it had never been awkward, not really. They usually chatted lightly about nothing in particular, sometimes about whichever case they were currently working on, sometimes about something Alexis had said. Tonight, Castle felt as if the kitchen area might have shrunk to half its size or maybe he had suddenly morphed into Godzilla or something because it was as if the kitchen wasn't big enough for both of them so they were constantly finding themselves in the other's way. And they were both being almost excruciatingly polite about it, murmuring "Excuse me" and "Sorry" whenever it happened as if they were strangers.

Eventually, though, the table was cleared and everything was put away—and Castle thought he might actually explode from the rising tension in the air.

Beckett had paused, unmoving on the other side of the kitchen island, not quite meeting his eyes but not quite not either. And it was strange and uncharacteristic of her to be so visibly unsure of herself and what to do with herself. Beckett, who was confident and decisive and so strong it amazed him every day.

Okay, he couldn't stand this anymore.

"I'm sorry. This is weird," he blurted out.

She blinked and let out a short, surprised little laugh. "Yeah, it's really weird."

He managed a smile for her. "It's silly, though, right? I mean, it's still you and me and you're my best friend, Beckett. We talk all the time." Not about their relationship, admittedly, but still. It was, usually, easy to talk to Beckett. He loved talking to her, loved her cleverness and her wit and her humor, loved her understanding.

"You're my best friend too," she said quietly and for a moment, he thought that might be all he needed to know. Almost. But god, he hadn't realized until then just how much it would mean to him to hear Beckett say that she considered him to be her best friend. _He_ was Kate Beckett's best friend and her partner. And nothing had ever meant more to him, except for being Alexis's father.

"So… I guess we need to talk," he ventured.

She nodded. "We do. Castle, I… I'm sorry about the way I ran away last night."

"You've said that already," he noted gently. "And it's okay. Really. I just want you to talk to me."

She nodded again and looked down, focusing on one of her hands as she ran a finger along the edge of the kitchen island. A faint frown appeared between her brows, the same one he usually saw when she was concentrating at work or when evidence in a case wasn't making sense.

On an impulse—or because Kate Beckett pretty much from the moment they'd met had her own magnetic force or her own gravitational pull that constantly drew him in—he moved around the island to stop just in front of her, lifting one hand to cup the back of her neck, tenderly but with enough firmness that she had to look up at him. And then he kissed her. Softly. He deliberately kept the kiss closed-mouth, gentle, almost chaste, lingering for a few seconds until he felt her lips soften, begin to part, and her entire body seemed to drift closer in unspoken invitation. And then, in an act of will and self-restraint that should have qualified him for a medal of some sort, he drew back.

Only to have to bite back a moan and resist the urge to kiss her again, with a lot more passion, when her body, in what was a mostly unconscious motion, canted forward, following his, as if she couldn't bear to have so much distance between them.

He briefly shut his eyes and took a small, careful step back. Talk. They needed to talk first, he reminded himself.

He opened his eyes and felt a surge of giddy male triumph as he noted that not only was the frown gone but Beckett's usually incisive, clear gaze was now a little hazy and she needed to blink a few times to clear it. Oh, oh, wow, his kiss, as brief as it had been, had managed to make Beckett's mind fuzzy. His kiss could befuddle Kate Beckett, the smartest, most driven woman he'd ever met. His heart was practically dancing a smug, celebratory jig in his chest.

"What was that for?" she asked, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

He lifted his shoulders a little in a half-shrug. "You were frowning," he explained simply.

Now she laughed a little, raising her eyebrows at him rather skeptically. Oh yes, Beckett was herself again. "Me frowning made you want to kiss me?"

He couldn't quite help but smirk. "Pretty much everything you do makes me want to kiss you." It was probably one of the truest things he'd ever said to her.

"You are a strange man, Rick Castle." Her tone and the smile that escaped in spite of her biting her lip made the words sound rather like a compliment. She sounded… fond…

His heart flipped over in his chest. (Ridiculous, really. And there was probably something wrong with him to be reacting like this to being called strange.) But he'd pretty much given up on being suave and dashing when it came to her.

He widened his eyes into a look of exaggerated surprise. "You mean you didn't know that already?"

She smirked at him. "I've known it for months now. You're not good at pretending to be normal."

He shrugged. "I have other talents."

For one of the few times in his life, he wasn't intending to make an innuendo, had only been thinking of his writing—but then he looked at her and—_oh god…_ Her eyes had gone dark, her cheeks flushed, and he just knew that she'd taken his words to refer to, um, other things. And he suddenly wanted to… demonstrate the talents she was thinking about more than he wanted his next breath.

_Damn it, no, Rick, stop it!_ They needed to talk first. They _did_.

He stepped back, away from her, putting more distance between them and then after a moment, turned and went to sit down on the couch.

She followed and sat down next to him but he noted that she very carefully left more than six inches of space between them.

Right. Talking first.

He looked at her to see her biting her lip and had to look away, dropping his gaze to focus on her hands in her lap, on the way she was restlessly pleating a small fold in her slacks. She was fidgeting, which was so absolutely unlike her. _Oh, Kate._

He hesitated but then reached out and stilled her hand by taking it in his. Her eyes shot up to his in surprise.

"Look, Kate, you can tell me anything, you know that, right? And…" he took a deep breath and then released it, "it won't change… how I feel about you."

And then he was abruptly convinced that he'd said exactly the wrong thing because her expression crumpled with something like regret or grief or some other emotion, her eyes darkening, her lips twisting into something like a grimace.

"Oh Castle, you… you're always so incredibly good to me. I don't deserve it."

For a moment, he could only gape at her. She didn't think she deserved it? It was the most ludicrous, most wrong thing he'd ever heard her say. Kate, who spent her entire life almost to the exclusion of all else trying to give justice to other people, the justice that she herself had never gotten. Kate, who was always so hard on herself, who never asked anyone for help and needed to be persuaded or browbeaten or ordered into allowing anyone to help her at all. He finally mustered the coherence to say, "You do deserve it. And I haven't done much at all." He hadn't, really. Had only given her a small fraction of all he wished he could give her, all he wanted to do for her. "If you're talking about letting you stay here, it's nothing. Your bedroom would just have been empty otherwise since it doesn't get used that much anyway. And anyway, it's sort of my fault that you don't have an apartment because I was the one that wrote Nikki Heat that made Dunn focus his attention on you."

"Castle, no, you know that's not true." She shifted closer to him, apparently forgetting to keep her distance, her hand tightening its grip on his. "None of that was your fault. You said it yourself; Nikki Heat was only Dunn's excuse for acting out his psychopathy and a mistake on his part because it brought you into it, to say nothing of Agent Shaw, and you were the one who figured out where he was hiding, where he was holding Jordan. And you saved my life." She paused and then added, "Besides, I wasn't talking about your letting me stay here. I was talking about… everything. I mean, you… you've been bringing me coffee just the way I like it every day for more than a year." She managed a small, rather forced laugh. "I don't even know how many coffees I must owe you by now."

He was beginning to wonder if she'd somehow suffered some sort of serious concussion that had muddled her thinking. "Kate, you don't owe me any coffees. I started bringing you coffee as a way to thank you for letting me follow you around, and then, well, now I bring you coffee because you like it and I like seeing you smile," he blurted out.

"Oh, Castle… that's what I'm talking about. You… you do so much just to make me smile, to make me… happy… and I know I don't—that I haven't done anything for you and I don't—I don't deserve the way you do so much for me, the way you care so much—"

"Kate, stop," he interrupted her, having finally recovered enough to be able to string words together. "You're crazy. That's—really, that might be the silliest thing I've ever heard you say," he blurted out, long past any and all ability to be tactful. At any other time, he knew she would have glared at him and possibly twisted his ear off for saying such a thing—but then again, he'd never heard her say anything so wrong-headed either. "You think you haven't done anything for me? You—do you have any idea what you've done for me, the way you've changed me?" He saw her open her mouth to respond—or argue—but he went on, switching tacks. "Do you know how much I wrote after I finished _Storm Fall_?"

She blinked, nonplussed, as he'd known she would be, at this seeming non sequitur. "No," she answered slowly.

"I didn't write anything, Beckett. Not one word. In the six months after I finished writing _Storm Fall_ and then in the whole editing process and the months after that leading up to publication and the book party where we met, I didn't write a thing. I _couldn't _write anything."

"Castle, I don't underst…"

"I couldn't write," he repeated. "It was like I had no words left. It was the worst writer's block I've ever had in my life. I was… lost, drowning, and I was terrified," he admitted, very quietly, looking down at his lap because he couldn't look at her face as he said this. He had never really imagined telling anyone about that time of his life, since he hated to remember it himself, and he was not much better at admitting his vulnerabilities than Beckett was. But if anyone deserved to know, it was her. "I'd begun to think I might never write again and that… absolutely terrified me. I'd never gone so long without writing, without any words coming to my mind and needing to be written out. Once I finished _Storm Fall_, it was like I had nothing left. And I didn't know what to do, didn't know who I was anymore, really. I'd been writing pretty much my entire life. It's who I am, who I've always been, and then suddenly I wasn't anymore and I didn't know what to do. If I wasn't a writer, then who was I?" He stopped, a little amazed at himself and a little scared too at how much he'd just revealed and a little upset at the memory of those months. He hadn't realized until those endless months just how much of his identity, his sense of self, his sense of self-worth, was tied up in being a writer. Until he'd suddenly lost his words. And if it hadn't been for Alexis, for needing to keep functioning for her sake, he honestly didn't know what might have happened to him.

He looked back up at Beckett, a faint smile coming to his lips, as he went on, "And then I met you."

"I—you started writing again because of me?" she asked quietly, a little incredulously.

He nodded. "You saved me," he said simply, with stark honesty. "From the beginning, you inspired me and I don't mean only in my writing but in my life too." She had changed him, made him want to be better, made him want to be more. She had made him realize how empty and unfulfilling his life had become, outside of his family. He'd had fun on the party circuit, playing the roguish bad-boy millionaire, but he'd started to lose himself to the persona. Always before, the two things he had that kept him from getting too lost in the persona had been his writing and Alexis, but then after finishing _Storm Fall_, when he no longer had his writing to return to, he'd been off-balance, his grasp on his real self shaky without one of the two main pillars supporting him. He'd been panicking, drowning in his own self-doubt, his sudden loss of purpose, and then he'd met Beckett and she had been dry land. She had not only inspired him in writing, she'd made him realize, slowly, that he wanted to be more than the cocky frivolous playboy, more than he had been. Knowing Kate Beckett had made him a better man, to say nothing of a better writer.

He paused and then said, quietly, "So don't ever think that you haven't done anything for me. And it's not only me. You've been great for Alexis too and I can't tell you how much that means to me."

"You know I care about Alexis too," she finally said quietly.

_Too._ She'd said it again. And just like last time, he was momentarily lost for words. She cared about Alexis—and she cared about him.

"I'm not the easiest person to get to know," she went on, her voice sounding more… uncertain of herself than he'd ever heard Beckett sound. "And I don't always let on what's on my mind."

He refrained from reacting in any way by an act of will, even as he was reeling, still, from all that Kate was admitting, even if she was understating it by some distance. (Beckett was 'not the easiest person to get to know' in about the same way that the Grand Canyon was a hole in the ground. It was part of the mystery that was Kate Beckett.)

She hesitated and then lifted her eyes to meet his, her chin setting in a way he recognized. And his heart softened, melted inside him. This was _hard_ for her, he knew it would be, but seeing the determined set of her chin underscored it. Kate Beckett didn't talk about her personal life—but she was _trying_. And that alone told him (almost) all he needed to know about how serious she was, how much she cared about him.

He was suddenly, abruptly certain that they were really going to make it, that everything he'd been hoping for them would actually happen. He didn't expect it would be easy—they were different people each with their own emotional baggage, she was still damaged, he was still impulsive and too inclined to hide behind humor, they were both stubborn—but he was, for the first time, really sure that they would make it. He had decided—or his heart had decided for him—that he was in this for real, for good, that his heart was committed to her—and he knew how tenacious, how dedicated Kate Beckett was. If she committed to something, she would never give up. And right now, seeing how willing she was to make an effort, to push herself past her instincts, her usual way of not talking about personal things, he knew she was committed to this, to _them_.

"I… something changed inside me when my mom died. I built up… this wall… I didn't want to hurt like that again."

He inwardly flinched even though she sounded… almost matter-of-fact about it now. But he remembered the pent up devastation in her voice as she talked about the bad years after her mom died, remembered the tears in her eyes when she spoke about her mom.

"But I know I'm not going to be able to be the kind of person I want to be, to… have the kind of relationship that I want… with you… unless that wall comes down." Her voice had gotten progressively softer as she spoke until by the time she spoke the words, with you, it was barely above a breath, but it hardly mattered. Everything in him was so attuned to her voice at that moment that he thought he would hear her softest whisper even if they were standing on opposite ends of Grand Central Station in rush hour. And for what she was saying now—he was holding his breath because he didn't want even the sound of his breathing to possibly get in the way of what she was saying.

"And I… I don't think I can take down that wall without help… I… it's not going to be easy. I—I know I'll still… get scared and try to push you away and run and if you—I'd understand if you—you deserve so much more… but if you still… want me… I want to try. I want to be with you."

He was frozen. He wasn't breathing. It was entirely possible that his heart had stopped beating, his lungs had ceased to function, his blood had stopped flowing in his veins. Her speech had been less than fluent, had been halting and uncertain—and was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard in his life. She—he—it—uh—his thoughts stuttered, his mind floundering to try to come up with a response but at that moment, he felt too discombobulated to focus, let alone be coherent. Kate Beckett had just admitted in so many words that she wanted to be with him, wanted a real relationship with him. _Oh my god. _And he was supposed to have words? There were _no_ words to describe how he felt right now.

"Castle? Castle, say something. You being so quiet makes me nervous," she added, trying to sound teasing but any humor fell flat so she only ended up sounding uncertain.

And that tinge of real doubt in her voice somehow broke through his paralysis. "Kate," he managed to say, his voice sounding a little unlike himself, "I already told you that nothing you said would change how I feel. I think you are the most… maddening, challenging, frustrating person I've ever met, but you're also the most remarkable, extraordinary person and I realized a long time ago that you're more than worth any challenges."

Her eyes, her entire expression lit up with so much emotion, so much happiness, that he lost his breath—again. She looked rather as she had last night for that split second after he'd told her he was falling in love with her—his heart stuttered in automatic reaction at the memory—but tonight, oh tonight, everything was different. Because before he could do more than blink, he found his arms full of a very warm, incredibly enticing bundle of passionate detective—_ohgodohgod_—as Kate had very effectively closed whatever distance was between them by surging forward, her arms sliding around his neck, her already parted lips seeking his. _Holy hell. _

It took a monumental, Herculean effort—if anyone had told Castle he would ever do this, he would never have believed it, would have sworn the person was insane—but he forced himself to turn his head so her lips landed on his cheek. It didn't help much—just the touch of her lips to his cheek, especially when combined with the heat of her body pressed against his, had him responding, a positive riot of lust setting off in his body.

"Castle," she whispered, her lips scattering soft kisses to his cheek, his earlobe, the underside of his chin, wherever she could reach, "why aren't you kissing me?"

She was going to be the death of him. He shut his eyes and bit back a groan and tried, desperately, to remember exactly why he wasn't kissing her until they both couldn't breathe, let alone talk. "Kate," he gritted out, his voice sounding as if he were in pain—which he was—"wait. There's…" he broke off on a sharp gasp as she teasingly darted out her tongue to lick his ear and his head jerked, "just one more thing. I need to know—why did you run away last night?"

That did the trick. She froze in his arms and then she was drawing back, pulling away, and he abruptly hated himself for asking but he did need to know. He did, he told himself, but his insistence suddenly seemed foolish, stubborn, because all the light had gone out of her face, her eyes shadowed again.

"Kate?" he ventured carefully, as he shifted, sliding his arm around her shoulders, and gently tugging her in so she ended up leaning against him. He wasn't quite sure if he intended more to comfort her or to reassure himself by feeling her warm weight against him again and wasn't sure if she would allow this at all but then warmth filled his chest as he felt her relax against him, her head nestling comfortably against his shoulder with as much ease as if they'd sat like this a million times before.

"I… it was the nightmare I mentioned," she finally said quietly, her voice a little shaky.

The nightmare—he blinked. He'd assumed that it must have involved her mother because of how brittle, how shaken, it had left her all day yesterday.

"I dreamed… that day in the precinct with Coonan when he… took you hostage. I dreamed about it only this time, I… I hesitated. I hesitated and he—" she sucked in a shaky breath before she finished, "he shot you and you… died."

_Oh. Oh god. Oh Kate. _

"You just… you bled out and there was _nothing_ I could do and I just… I had to watch the life leave your eyes and I couldn't—I couldn't get it out of my head. And then when you said… _that_, I just… it was like the dream came back and I panicked because I just—I can't lose you, Castle."

He lost his breath, stunned, amazed, and so moved he had to blink furiously to keep tears from forming. His chest ached at the emotion in her voice even as he was simultaneously filled with a rush of poignant joy. Kate Beckett _loved_ him. She really and truly loved him. She hadn't said the words but she didn't need to. He _knew_ she loved him with a certainty that didn't admit any doubts. He remembered how strongly she'd been affected by the nightmare—she had been haunted by it all day yesterday—he had assumed the nightmare must have been about her mother because he hadn't imagined that anything else could have upset Kate so much. But no, the nightmare had been about him. Kate had dreamed about him dying and that had been what made her look so fragile. And there was no way—no way at all—that she could have been made so upset by the dream if she didn't love him. _She_ _loved him_.

"You won't lose me," he promised, making his voice as confident as he could. "You'll never lose me. Nothing's going to happen to me."

She made a small sound that was something like a strangled sob. "You can't promise that. No one can."

"Maybe not," he conceded reluctantly but honestly. He should have known that the automatic, unthinking reassurance wouldn't work for Kate Beckett. "But I'm fine now and I'll be careful, I promise."

"I know you'd be safer if you weren't following me around everywhere," she admitted very quietly, even as her hand came up to clutch his shirt, rather belying her words. "But I don't want to lose you at work."

"I'm your partner, remember? You said so yourself. I'm not about to leave you alone. Like it or not, you're stuck with me," he said, trying to joke.

"I like it," she blurted out immediately. "I like having you with me at work."

"Pulling your pigtails, right, Beckett?"

"Making things more fun," she returned, catching the reference and throwing it back at him as he'd known she would.

He lifted his hand to cup her cheek in his hand, nudging gently until she lifted her head, turning it to look up at him. "I know it's frightening to care about someone so much," he told her gently. "I'm terrified every day over Alexis but that's the price we pay for living and loving."

She nodded slowly and he was mesmerized by her eyes, soft and clear and warm, so much affection—no, love—swirling in the green-gold depths, and he thought, not for the first time, that she had the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen.

"Anyway, you shouldn't worry about me too much," he said, wanting to make her smile. "I survived being cursed by a mummy, didn't I?"

He was rewarded as she huffed a soft laugh. "Yeah, you did, in spite of mean guard dogs and malfunctioning elevators and exploding coffee machines."

"Hey, the coffee machine wasn't the curse," he protested immediately. "That was you and the boys being mean."

"Poor baby," she mocked, smirking at him, before she turned her head to kiss his thumb and then his palm, sending a jolt of lust sizzling through his body.

And he abruptly lost all interest in talking anymore. Talking wasted lips that were much better employed for other things.

"Castle?"

"Hmm?" he mumbled, rather absently, and told himself sternly that if Beckett actually wanted to talk more (really?), he would listen and not simply silence her by kissing her. He wanted her to talk to him more, he did, really.

"I think it's time for you to kiss me."

His bossy Beckett. Directing him to kiss her—yeah, he definitely loved this woman.

He hid his smirk, forcing his voice to sound neutral. "You think so? You sure we've talked about everything?"

She huffed out an irritated little breath—she was so adorable when she got annoyed (he made a mental note never to tell her that). "Castle." Yes, that was a Beckett tone, one he knew very well. "I swear you—"

He cut her off by kissing her, taking immediate advantage of the fact that her lips had already been parted to speak by sliding his tongue into her mouth. And this kiss—oh this kiss—was the best and hottest kiss of his life because now, there was no uncertainty, no doubts about what this was or where they stood. No hesitation as she kissed him back, her hands curling around his neck, her lips pushing back against his, her tongue tangling with his in a passionate, brain-clearing dance. She made that sound, that soft moan in the back of her throat, and oh god, that was hot and he was immediately hard and wanting her, wanting all of her, now, five minutes ago. The kiss was already deep and desperate and careening long past the point of no return. And he was pressing her into the couch, his hands swiftly tugging her button-down out of her slacks and finding the impossibly soft, smooth skin underneath. And she was whimpering, her body arching up into him, and _oh god Kate Kate Kate…_

He tore his lips away from hers only to scatter kisses along the line of her chin, pausing to nip lightly at her earlobe, learning every spot that made her gasp and moan.

"Castle… wait…" she gasped.

He froze, dismay and doubt fighting for dominance inside him. Oh god, he hadn't moved too fast, had he? He could have sworn she was with him in this, she'd been kissing him back, and she'd been responsive—oh so responsive.

He lifted his head to look at her—her lips swollen, her eyes dark, flushed and breathless and _wanting_. She was the hottest thing he'd ever seen.

"We can't… not here… Alexis," she managed to say.

Oh crap. His daughter's name abruptly brought him back to reality and out of his lust-fogged haze to realize that he'd been about a minute away from making love to Kate on the couch when his daughter was right upstairs and could have easily come downstairs and seen them. He never forgot about Alexis like that, never forgot himself like that—although admittedly since he didn't bring women home to the loft, it had never been an issue before. He'd certainly never even come close to forgetting himself with Meredith or Gina.

"Castle, take me to bed."

The words—the hottest words he'd ever heard in his life—galvanized him and he scrambled up off the couch, grabbing her hand and leading her through his study. She crowded in behind him, her hands—evil, wonderful hands—sliding around his waist and then wandering lower until he groaned and caught both her wrists in his before he turned and kissed her, hard and deep and desperate. Kept kissing her as he backed up blindly through his bedroom door, vaguely registering the sound of the door being firmly closed—she was so brilliant—and then they were falling onto his bed and he stopped thinking entirely, his entire world narrowing until all he knew was just her. _Kate._

And she was everything.

_~To be continued…~_

* * *

A/N 2: Happy now? ;-)

And no, this fic isn't quite over yet. There's a little more to come, with quite a bit more fluff ahead.


	24. Chapter 24

Author's Note: I get the distinct impression people were pleased with what happened in the last chapter… ;-) And now, we get to the morning after (and another very long chapter—um, sorry?) Fluff ahead.

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 24_

Kate drifted back to consciousness slowly, aware that something was different but not at first realizing what it was until she blinked her eyes open. To see Castle.

Oh, right. The memories rushed back and she turned a smile into her pillow, inhaling the scent of him, a rush of warmth filling her.

He was sleeping soundly on his back, one arm flung over his head, the other arm lying across her body. He looked adorable and young, his features relaxed, his hair flopping every which way. His chin was rough with morning stubble and she was reminded of the way he'd looked last year when they'd first met, the scruffy look that had annoyed her back then because it had made him look so damnably sexy. (He was still sexy.)

One of her hands was curled loosely around his shoulder, one of her legs tucked between his.

Her eyes lowered of their own volition to his bare chest and his stomach, left uncovered since the sheet covered him from the waist down. (Too bad.) Oh well, she could enjoy the view that she had. Because it was definitely enjoyable. His pectorals were beautifully defined, his stomach flat and firm. It was really a terrible shame that he ever needed to wear shirts at all. The brief glimpse of his chest and stomach she'd had that day last week when he'd rushed out of his room with his shirt unbuttoned hadn't been nearly enough, especially now that she knew what the rest of him looked like.

Mmm.

A tiny part of her brain was cackling something that sounded very like _mine mine mine_.

Not that she was feeling possessive.

Oh fine, yes, she was feeling possessive. More possessive. Because now she knew not only what he looked like but what he felt like, above her, surrounding her, inside her. Which was very, very good. Just as he was very, very good. She'd expected it but even so, she'd had no idea.

She smiled again, a silly, giddy, besotted smile that she was momentarily thankful no one else was around to see. They hadn't talked much last night afterwards—after the first time—when she'd been lying comfortably nestled against him, her head pillowed on his shoulder, his arm around her, his fingers lightly drawing idle patterns on her bare shoulder. But after a while, he had murmured, "Kate?"

She'd only made a questioning mumble in response.

"You were right. I had no idea," he'd said.

She'd smiled into his chest and then lifted her head to smile into his clear, bright eyes. "Neither did I," she'd responded (before she'd kissed him and they'd both gotten distracted.)

And she really hadn't. Hadn't realized at all what it would be like to make love to Castle, the way he'd somehow managed to combine being incredibly passionate and strong, controlling and commanding her body and its responses so easily, with being incredibly tender and loving. He'd explored, learned, worshipped her body with his lips and his tongue and his hands and his body, as he'd driven her to the edge of ecstasy and then over the edge, again and again. And again.

Mmmm.

She should really return the favor. Yes, she liked that idea. Waking Castle up with her mouth and her hands, starting with a thorough appreciation of his chest and then lower…

She pushed herself up onto her elbow to better appreciate the view and to decide exactly where to start but then—drat it—her eyes fell to the nightstand on his side of the bed. Or more specifically to the clock on the nightstand and the glowing (evil) numbers that indicated it was nearly 5:30. Early, yes, but it didn't leave enough time for what she'd planned on doing—since she had no intention of rushing—and still allow her to return upstairs before Alexis woke up.

Drat it. She would have to wait until tonight. It was, admittedly, not as much of a disappointment as it might have been without the promise of "tonight"—and all the following nights—waiting. But still.

She should probably be getting out of bed and back into her clothes and going upstairs in the next few minutes since Alexis normally woke up a little after six during the week.

She and Castle hadn't talked at all about how and when they would tell Alexis, or anyone else, about this change in their relationship, but until they had talked to Alexis, Kate really needed to return to her own room before Alexis was awake to see her.

Kate sighed a little but accepted the dictates of reality and carefully slid out of bed, gathering up her clothes, scattered over the floor of Castle's bedroom, taking a minute to glance around his bedroom. She hadn't paid any attention to what his bedroom looked like last night, having been, um, distracted. So now she looked. It was… comfortable, a masculine space, a large print of a lion on one wall. The entire room was like him, solid, unpretentious, male but with the appreciation for quality and comfort that made her tease him for being a metrosexual—and she already knew that he had what had to be the most comfortable mattress ever and the world's softest sheets.

She took her clothes into the en-suite bathroom to put them on. She grimaced at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a tousled mess, her makeup almost entirely gone, her lips still slightly swollen—but there was a light in her eyes, an irrepressible smile flitting around the corners of her mouth that was unusual. She looked… well, she looked like she'd spent the night rolling around in a bed having fantastic sex—which was true—but she also looked… happy.

And… oh. There were a couple small tell-tale marks on her neck, another small bruise on her collarbone—she flushed—and another on her breast and—she stopped cataloguing, the sensory memories accompanying each mark making her feel entirely too hot. She got dressed in a rush, trying desperately not to think about the way he'd taken off her clothes, the way he'd looked at her and touched her, everywhere. (Remembering only made her want to crawl right back into bed with him.)

She still looked like a (happy) mess but at least she was a decently-clothed (happy) mess.

She made her way back into his room, pausing by the nightstand on his side to retrieve her necklace with her mom's ring, remembering the way he'd slipped it off her yesterday. She'd never let anyone else, not even Will, handle her necklace, had always taken it off herself. With Castle, it had never occurred to her to stop him and he'd handled the necklace and her mom's ring with so much care, even reverence, that even in her fog of lust, she'd felt a rush of emotion. If she hadn't already been in love with him, she thought she would have fallen in love with him right then just for the way he'd touched her necklace—but then, if she hadn't loved him, she would never have let him touch her necklace. She stopped as she reached for her dad's watch, abruptly changing her mind. She would leave it here.

She hated the thought of Castle waking up alone after their first night together but she could, at least, leave something of hers, her dad's watch, behind so he would know… so he wouldn't be entirely abandoned. He would understand. He knew what her dad's watch meant to her, knew she would never simply forget about it.

She paused, looking down at his sleeping face, and then, because she couldn't not, bent to drop the lightest of butterfly kisses on his lips.

Kate padded quietly out of his bedroom, carefully closing the door behind her, and then through the study and into the living room when a strangled sound made her stop short.

_Shit! Oh god oh no no no. _This could not possibly be happening to her.

She closed her eyes and then opened them again before turning slowly towards the kitchen, as if putting off the visual confirmation of what she knew she'd see would somehow make this whole thing go away.

_Shit._ The universe hated her.

Alexis was standing by the sink, still in her pajamas, a glass of water in her hand, staring, although she was unable to meet Kate's eyes, her face redder than her hair.

If it were possible to die or spontaneously combust from sheer mortification, Kate should by rights have died or exploded on the spot. But the universe was not that nice so Kate could only blush hotter than she ever had in her life and manage to stammer, "Alexis, you—you're up early."

"I—I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep," Alexis mumbled.

Kate opened her mouth, the automatic, instinctive words_, this isn't what it looks like_, on the tip of her tongue, before she bit them back. It was _exactly_ what it looked like and Alexis obviously knew it.

_Shit. _

"I—uh—" Kate floundered, her mind entirely blank. What was she supposed to say? The only words she could think of were something along the lines of _I slept with your dad last night_ and she would sooner cut off her tongue than say that. Anyway, it wasn't as if Alexis didn't know—_oh god_—it was so obvious the words might as well have been written in glowing neon letters on a sign hung across her chest. "I need to get ready for work," she finally managed. "We'll… uh… talk later?"

Alexis only nodded mutely, still blushing, still not meeting Kate's eyes.

And Kate fled.

Bad morning. Very, very bad morning with what had to be the absolute worst possible way for Alexis to have found out about her and Castle—with the possible exception of Alexis walking in on them when they'd been making out on the couch last night. No, on second thought, what had actually happened was worse.

Oh god, she hoped this wouldn't ruin her relationship with Alexis. She loved that girl, loved the way Alexis talked to her now and she would hate for her relationship with Castle to make things awkward with her and Alexis. Plus, she knew that if Alexis had any issues with their relationship, it would be hard on Castle.

But in spite of her lingering concerns over Alexis's reaction to finding out about her and Castle and her lingering embarrassment over how Alexis had found out, Kate found herself smiling as she showered and got ready for work, the smile slipping out almost in spite of herself. (Okay, not such a bad morning.)

She was a little sore in places and there was no doubt that Castle had been… enthusiastic in his exploration of her body so she found additional marks of his possession all over, including some in places she could not remember him paying much attention to, like the inside of one knee and on the flare of her hip a little above her tattoo (although she did, very vividly, remember the attention he'd paid to her tattoo itself, tracing it with his lips and his tongue). But she found, for the first time in her life really, that she didn't mind being marked as his. Because she was.

Kate smiled, again, as she knotted a blue silk scarf around her neck, covering up the last remaining visible marks on her neck, pausing to be thankful that she'd thrown in a few of her scarves to be dry-cleaned along with the other delicates that had been rescued from the explosion. And made a mental note that she really should update her lingerie collection, which was another part of her wardrobe that she'd entirely neglected to replace after the explosion, not expecting that she would need it any time soon. Not that Castle had appeared to find anything lacking in her utterly plain, utilitarian underwear last night but it could hardly do any harm to acquire a few items that would make his jaw drop.

Once dressed, Kate made her way downstairs (again) and was relieved—and a little guilty for feeling relieved—that Alexis was nowhere in sight, having apparently retreated back into her bedroom. Castle hadn't emerged yet either but she didn't doubt he would soon enough.

Kate contentedly settled in to her usual morning routine, skimming through the newspaper while she waited for the coffee to be finished brewing, deviating from her routine to prepare not only her own cup but one for him too.

It was only a few more minutes before she sensed his appearance and turned away from the paper to smile at him, although she felt herself coloring the moment she met his eyes. "Morning, Castle." (And then flushed even more at how husky her voice sounded. Bother. Knowing exactly what he looked like without his clothes and just how talented he was with his mouth and his hands was not going to make it easier to tamp down on her physical reaction to him. If anything, it was going to make it harder, especially since all she wanted to do at the sight of him was to push him right back into his bedroom and… remove the clothes that hid him from her view. She really hated his button-downs.)

He smiled, his eyes so bright. He glanced quickly up the stairs and then, apparently satisfied that Alexis wasn't in sight, he moved in behind her, sliding his arms around her waist and dipping his head to dust a kiss behind her ear. "Morning, beautiful," he murmured. And she couldn't tell whether the delicious shiver that went through her was the result of the touch of his lips or his words or his voice, that low, bedroom voice of his, or the combination of all three.

She tilted her head to the side to give him greater access as he pressed a string of kisses down the line of her jaw and lower, only to stop when he reached the barrier of her scarf.

"Beckett, you're wearing a scarf," he commented against her skin, sounding rather petulant, a child being denied a treat.

"Mm hmm," she responded, her voice sounding breathy. "_Somebody_ left a few marks on my neck that I needed to cover up."

She didn't even need to see him to know he was smirking. "And you enjoyed every second of it," he returned. (She really had.)

She reached back to poke him in the side, making him yelp and release her. "So did you and stop being smug."

He affected a pout of mock injury that had her simultaneously wanting to roll her eyes and kiss the pout off his lips. "I really think you ought to be nicer to me considering how _good_ I was to you last night," he huffed, waggling his brows at her in an exaggerated leer.

He was ridiculously smug right now, almost insufferably so, and she really wished she could feel annoyed at him for it but no, annoyance was just not happening this morning. He was so damnably cute when he was so smug and happy, his eyes so bright.

She pursed her lips to keep from smiling and managed a fairly creditable Beckett eye roll and only gestured in the direction of his coffee. "Drink your coffee, ridiculous man."

"You made me coffee—so is coffee the new way of saying 'thank you so much for last night?'"

Clearly, the smugness was not wearing off any time soon. But now she knew that he had good reason for being smug, an errant voice in her mind interjected. (_Shut up. Not helping._)

And she really couldn't blame him since she felt ridiculously giddy too, was only doing a better job of hiding it. Ugh. Bother. She was just as besotted as he was. A word from her childhood suddenly came to mind—twitterpated. Yes, that was exactly what she was. She and Castle both.

"No," she contradicted him, carefully hiding her smile, as she went on in a deliberately neutral voice, "I made you coffee because you like it and I like to see you smile." She repeated his words back to him and saw the recognition flare in his eyes, the cockiness abruptly leaving his face until he just looked amazed and so happy. Her heart lifted inside her chest at the sight of it because she loved seeing him look so happy. It was so easy, in some ways, to make him happy; he appreciated the little things, the little gestures, and yes, words so much. With all that he did for her every day, she made a mental promise to herself to remember that and to try to give back to him all the happiness he gave her.

"Kate," he breathed and then he was closing the distance between them, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her softly, tenderly. "_You_ make me smile," he told her quietly as he drew back.

She smiled at him. "So do you."

He dropped a quick kiss on her nose, making her huff a soft laugh, and then released her, moving around the kitchen island to the fridge. "I'm going to fry up some eggs for breakfast. Do you want some?"

The question made her realize suddenly that she was actually hungry, much hungrier than she usually was in the mornings (and she tried, very hard, not to think about why that might be). "Oh, yes, please. Thanks, Castle."

He tossed a smile at her over his shoulder in response and she only watched him for a few minutes, enjoying the movement of his muscles just hinted at through his (annoyingly opaque) shirt. On the plus side, he had rolled up his sleeves as he always did when he was doing anything in the kitchen so his forearms were nicely displayed. As were his hands (_his very talented hands_, an errant voice in her mind purred, and she flushed, her entire body feeling hot.) She really did love watching him cook. For all that he could be a klutz in other situations, for the most part, when he was in the kitchen, he was confident, capable (in spite of the incident after the mummy curse when he'd cut his hand). She smiled to herself, the usual warmth filling her chest as she remembered him saying that he'd essentially taught himself how to cook after Alexis was born.

Oh. Alexis. That did the trick; the thought of his daughter abruptly cut through the low buzz of arousal humming through her. And she was reminded of the mortifying encounter earlier that morning and that she and Castle really had to talk about this.

"Castle, how are we going to handle this?" she blurted out.

He paused, turning to look at her. "I thought we 'handled' things pretty well last night," he smirked.

She tried but couldn't quite hold back her smile and her blush. "We did but that wasn't what I meant."

"What did you mean?" he asked, turning back to the eggs.

"I meant, how do we want to handle telling people about us?"

"Oh." He paused for a moment, obviously considering it, as he used a spatula to transfer fried eggs onto two different plates. He turned, handing one plate to her, along with a fork, and then stayed, leaning against the kitchen island across from her with his own plate. He chewed a bite of his eggs meditatively before he swallowed and went on, "Well, Montgomery already knows. As for Alexis and my moth—"

She grimaced. "Actually, Castle," she interrupted him, "Alexis already knows. She… um… sort of caught me coming out of your room earlier this morning."

His eyes flew up to look at her face. "Oh. I figured that was why you left so early. And you're sure she knew?"

She gave him a look. "Castle, I was still in my clothes from yesterday, my hair was a mess, and Alexis is old enough to recognize a walk of shame when she sees one."

"And she caught you," he repeated. He tried—she could see he tried to hold back his laugh—but a snicker escaped in spite of himself and she knew that he could picture the entire horrifying encounter this morning.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Stop laughing, buddy, or I'll never set foot inside your room again." It was a completely baseless threat and they both knew it. He barely needed to look at her now and all she wanted to do was push him back into his room and spend the rest of the day rolling around in his bed.

But it did make him stop snickering, lifting one fist to cover his mouth, and forcing a cough before he lowered his fist, having schooled his expression into sobriety. "Sorry, sorry. How did she react?"

She made a face. "She didn't exactly say much, just explained that she'd woken up early and couldn't get back to sleep. We were both embarrassed out of our minds, neither of us having any idea what to say, so I basically just said we'd talk later and I ran."

"Sorry," he said again. "Alexis isn't—she's never had to deal with this sort of thing before. I don't—" he stopped abruptly, rethinking his words, and only repeated, "well, she's never had this happen before."

She softened almost in spite of herself, knowing that he'd just cut himself off from referring to any of the women he'd slept with in the past. She knew—as Alexis had told her when they'd been watching Castle on the Bobby Mann Show—that Castle never invited his dates over to the loft. And even if Alexis hadn't mentioned it, she should have guessed it already just from knowing how much Castle protected Alexis. He would never let a woman who was only a fling meet Alexis.

"Okay, so Alexis knows," he continued. "She found out under less than ideal circumstances but it's not like we were going to hide it from her or my mother."

"No, it's not and even so, I don't think we could," she agreed, "since we're all sharing the loft right now."

"Right. So we'll just tell Alexis and my mother the truth, basically, that we're together now."

"And I'll tell my dad the same thing." Her dad would be happy to hear it. She made a mental note to call him and plan for their next get-together.

His eyes widened. "Your dad."

She gave him a soft smile. "It's okay, Castle. Don't look like that. My dad likes you, remember?"

He didn't look all that reassured. "Yeah, but that was when I was just your friend and your partner. The standards for liking a guy change significantly when said guy starts actually dating, let alone sleeping with, your daughter. Trust me on that. I have a daughter."

She couldn't help but laugh a little. "It's not exactly the same thing. Alexis is 15; I'm 30 and have been living on my own for years. When I had lunch with my dad the last time, he was the one encouraging me to give you a chance."

"He was?" He grinned. "I knew I liked your dad."

She smiled. "My dad knows a lot about you, you know. I've been talking to him about you for months."

He smirked. "I know. Your dad told me."

She narrowed her eyes. "Did my dad also mention that for the first few months, all I did was complain about you pretty much?"

He laughed out loud. "He didn't need to tell me that, Beckett. From what I remember, you weren't exactly subtle about finding me annoying." He wiggled his brows at her. "But you succumbed to my charm eventually."

She couldn't help but smirk. "My succumbing, as you put it, had nothing to do with your charm," she told him. Well, very little to do with his charm. If anything, his charm had been a large part of how long she'd resisted him. She'd always been aware of his charm but she distrusted too-charming men in general.

"My ruggedly handsome good looks then," he suggested.

She snorted. "Hardly."

He pouted and she felt herself relenting. Her rational brain and her usual snark weren't in control this morning; her heart was. And she couldn't even bring herself to care because she was just… _happy_, joy bubbling up inside her like a constant spring, every time she looked at him or heard his voice or felt his touch. Happy in a way she could barely remember feeling.

She slid off the stool, moving around the island to put her cleared plate in the sink and then to slide her arms around his waist as he turned to face her and she (finally) did what she'd wanted to do in the precinct yesterday and nuzzled his neck, kissing the dip of his clavicle, and inhaling the familiar scent of him.

He let out a shaky breath that she felt against her rather than heard. "Kate…"

She pressed another light kiss on his clavicle and then lifted her head to look at him, seeing the way his eyes had darkened. "I succumbed to your kind heart, your loyalty, the way you care about people." She paused and then added, "And your coffee, of course."

A smile tugged the corners of his lips upwards but his eyes were soft, warm, and so loving. "You're amazing, you know that," he said softly.

She colored a little at the utter sincerity in his voice. She didn't know how he could look at her like this, knowing her and all her issues, her flaws, as well as he did and still say that she was amazing, look at her as if she was amazing. But somehow he could, he did, and looking at him, she could almost believe that she was, that she could be the amazing person he said she was.

"I thought so the first time I met you and it's still true. Even now, after spending all this time with you, I'm still amazed by the depths of your strength, your heart."

_Oh Castle. _

He paused, one corner of his lips quirking upwards. "And your hotness."

She choked on a soft laugh. "You're not so bad yourself, Castle."

He let out a huff of mock offense. "Not so bad? It didn't sound last night like you thought I was only 'not so bad.'"

She blushed hotly and poked him in the side. "Stop gloating. It's not attractive. And you had better find a way to lose your 'I just got laid' smirk before we get to the precinct."

"You said Montgomery was fine with us."

"Montgomery is fine but he said to keep it professional in the precinct and just because he's okay with it doesn't mean I want my personal life to be announced to the entire precinct." She paused and then added more quietly, "Besides, NYPD regulations technically prohibit colleagues who work together from being romantically involved."

He stiffened. "But—"

"Montgomery pointed that out yesterday but he said it's fine because you're not on the NYPD payroll but that's partly why he wants us to keep it professional at work so fewer people know about it and people don't complain about us getting favorable treatment."

"Oh."

"But he approves and is happy about us, Castle," she assured him, wanting to see him smile again. "He told me he'd been expecting this to happen for a while now and that's partly why he let you stick around and follow me."

He frowned a little. "Montgomery let me follow you because the Mayor insisted on it."

"Actually, no," she corrected him. "That's what I thought too but the Captain told me yesterday that if I'd ever seriously told him that I didn't want to work with you, he could have and would have kicked you out."

"But you did tell him—you made it quite clear in those first few weeks that you hated having me around."

"I complained about you, I know, Castle, but the Captain saw more than I did and he realized pretty quickly that you made things more fun and I hadn't been having any fun for a while and he saw that our team's case closure rate went up after you joined."

His eyes widened, a smile tugging at his lips. "The team's closure rate went up after I started working with you guys?"

She smiled and nudged him a little. "You shouldn't sound so surprised, Castle," she said teasingly. "After all, you said yourself that we make a pretty good team."

"We make a great team," he corrected her and then added, a mischievous glint entering his eyes, "At work too."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help her blush.

He smirked at her and then dropped a light kiss on her mouth before releasing her.

She saw his eyes go to the clock and then a faint frown appeared. "Alexis needs to leave for school soon."

She flushed, wondering how long it would take before she stopped blushing when Alexis's name was mentioned. But he was right. She'd wondered but now it seemed clear that Alexis was hiding in her room—avoiding her?

Castle moved to stand at the foot of the stairs. "Alexis," he called, raising his voice just a little.

It was a couple minutes before Alexis appeared, fully dressed, her backpack already slung over one shoulder, her hair loose and falling around her face, effectively keeping her expression hidden from Kate.

"Morning, Dad."

"Good morning, pumpkin. You'd better eat breakfast quickly before you leave."

Alexis shook her head a little. "I think I'll just grab something on the way. It's fine."

"If you're sure. Look, sweetie, I wanted to talk to you about… something," Castle finished rather lamely, clearly not quite sure how to start this conversation or how to refer to her early morning encounter with Alexis. For the first time in Kate's memory, Castle sounded and looked less than comfortable when dealing with Alexis and Kate's chest tightened.

"It's okay, Dad. I know about you and… Beckett. I need to leave for school or I'll be late. We can talk later, okay, Dad?"

With that, she turned and headed towards the front door before Castle stopped her. "Wait, no kiss?"

Alexis turned back, going up on her toes to brush a quick kiss to her dad's cheek. "I'll see you later, Dad."

It didn't appear that Alexis was going to acknowledge her presence (not very surprisingly), although it stung more than she would have expected, and Kate found herself blurting out, "Have a good day, Alexis."

Alexis paused, glancing back, and Kate saw that Alexis was (still?) blushing and the girl didn't quite meet Kate's eyes as she answered, with scrupulous (and rather painful) courtesy, "Thank you. You as well, Detective."

Kate told herself she was being silly, overreacting, to the formality of Alexis's tone but even so, she couldn't keep from flinching at Alexis's use of her title, feeling rather as if she'd been slapped. Alexis hadn't called her Detective in more than a month, since the first few days of her staying at the loft.

"Alexis," Castle began a little uncertainly.

Alexis glanced at him, her expression softening, becoming more like her usual one, but she only said, "Bye, Dad. See you later." And then she was gone, slipping out the front door before Castle had finished responding, "Bye."

Castle was left staring at the front door, looking rather lost, and the expression pushed Kate into hurrying over to him, slipping her hand into his as he immediately gripped her hand tightly.

"She might just be embarrassed, Castle," Kate ventured reassuringly, even though she couldn't quite believe her own words. "And I imagine she's a little unsure of herself. We'll talk to her later."

She tried to imagine how she might have felt as a teenager catching a woman coming out of her father's bedroom but failed because it was something so totally foreign from her own life. To this day, she still hadn't ever seen her dad with a woman who wasn't her mom. Her dad didn't date. She had mentioned it to him once, a few years ago, in what had not been the most comfortable conversation ever, assuring him that if he wanted to start dating, it would be fine with her because she didn't want him to be alone. Her dad had forced a small smile but had assured her he wasn't not dating because of her but that he simply wasn't interested. And then he had said, his smile fading and tears coming to his eyes, "I'm still in love with your mother." She had never mentioned the subject of her dad dating again.

Alexis obviously knew that her dad dated and had seen Castle go out on dates—with Bachelorette Number Three most recently—to say nothing of seeing Ellie Monroe flirt with him on the Bobby Mann Show but Kate knew very well that knowing something and seeing it were two very different things. And she didn't know how it would affect things that Alexis knew her too.

"Right," he agreed and she could tell he was forcing himself to sound rather more confident than he felt. He turned to look at her. "You know she cares about you too."

Kate tried not to wince. "Maybe not anymore," she couldn't help but mumble.

"She still cares about you, Kate. After how great you've been with her and how close you two have gotten, that won't change. Trust me, Kate. I know my daughter."

She managed a smile at that. She did trust him, and most especially when it came to Alexis. She knew how involved he'd always been in Alexis's life and of course, he knew Alexis better than anyone else in the world. So if he believed that Alexis would come around and accept Kate as her dad's, um, girlfriend and not just his friend, Kate believed him. (Oh god, she was Richard Castle's girlfriend.)

So she smiled at him and pressed a brief kiss to his lips. "I believe you and you know I care about Alexis too. We'll talk to her later, work everything out, but for now, we should probably be leaving for work."

"Right. Oh, and that reminds me, I have your dad's watch."

Of course, her dad's watch. She'd been meaning to ask him about it.

He reached into his pocket and took it out and with his other hand, grasped her left wrist to bring it up so he could slip her dad's watch onto it. That done, he pressed a kiss to her palm before smiling at her—and she concentrated on not having her knees give way beneath her. Damn. What had he done to her that she, Detective Kate Beckett, went weak-kneed from a kiss to her palm and a smile (and, in fairness, the care with which he'd fastened her dad's watch on her wrist)?

Kate sternly got a grip on herself, trying to mentally shake herself back into some semblance of her usual work mode, as she retrieved her gun and they left the loft.

"Oh, what about the boys?" Castle asked as they headed to their usual coffee shop.

She glanced at him. "What about them?"

"Are we going to tell them about us? Even if we don't do anything else to let anyone else know, we kinda should tell them, don't you think?"

"Yeah, we should. Although," she added, giving him a quick sidelong grin, "we could just not tell them and see how long it takes them to figure it out."

He grinned. "Oh, that'd be good. Which of them do you think will figure it out first?"

She considered it. "Mm, my guess would be Esposito, if only because he's worked with me longer so he knows me better."

"I don't know, Beckett, my money's on Ryan."

"Why Ryan?"

Castle shrugged a little. "He's a romantic and he's in a happy relationship."

Kate laughed a little. "And being in a happy relationship gives him a sixth sense for other couples?"

"Not a sixth sense, just people tend to be more observant about things that relate to their own lives. So people who are in the first flush of a romantic relationship see other couples everywhere and are happily reminded of their own significant others and people who've just had a bad breakup see couples everywhere and feel bitter about it."

She turned to look at him, catching a thread of some emotion she couldn't quite identify in his voice as he finished talking. "Speaking from experience, Castle?"

He glanced at her and then away. "After Meredith… left," he answered briefly.

Her heart pinched a little, amazed yet again at his capacity for forgiveness, his strength of character to be able to forgive and move on past Meredith's betrayal, his ability to make light of his divorces for the most part even though she could imagine how much they must have hurt him. Or more accurately, knowing him, he made light of his failed marriages _because_ they had hurt him; she knew him now and he used humor as a defense mechanism, deflecting attention from the real emotion behind the façade.

His comment reminded her of something and she paused to look at him as she pulled up outside their normal coffee shop. "Is that when you wrote _Hell Hath No Fury_?" she found herself blurting out.

She wasn't sure, even now, if he would answer her but he only raised his eyebrows at her. "Was it that obvious?"

"Not exactly," she answered. "Just the plot, the fact that the Wiccans killed the victim because he'd cheated on them." She hadn't noticed it at the time but then again, she hadn't known about his divorce or the reasons for it at the time. It was only in looking back on it that she realized. It had not been one of his strongest books and it had struck her as being odd at the time in that the victim had been portrayed decidedly unpleasantly, as someone who would not be missed, and although the victim had received justice, justice had felt harsh, a double-edged sword as he'd put it. Now, knowing him, she could see that he'd been angry and hurt and rather bitter and had written it out in that book. "I have read all your books, you know, Castle," she added, wanting to cheer him up, suddenly regretting that she'd asked at all because the accompanying memories had made his eyes cloud over, becoming a rather stormy gray.

It worked as he looked at her, a small smile curving his lips. "I know and you remember them all too. You really are a fan, aren't you, Beckett?"

"I really am," she admitted and was rewarded by the way his eyes cleared, the last of the shadows vanishing. Yeah, she would do a lot to see him look so happy.

He passed her coffee to her, as always, but then, as he did so, accompanied the usual gesture by brushing a kiss against her cheek, almost touching the corner of her lips.

She couldn't hold back her smile as they returned to her car. "What was that for?"

"Do I need a reason? I just wanted to stock up on a few more kisses to last for the day since I won't be able to kiss you once we get to the precinct."

Silly, adorable man. But, yeah, she could understand that and, on impulse, leaned over the center console of her car to kiss him quickly on the lips. "Another one to tide you over."

She smiled the rest of the short drive to the precinct, aware of a distinct sense of reluctance as she parked outside. Time to start being professional. And with the uniforms milling around going in and out of the precinct, she and Castle couldn't even fit in a last kiss before starting the day. (What had happened to her, she wondered, to feel so disappointed at not being able to kiss a man for the next eight or so hours? She'd never felt this way before. Then again, she'd never loved anyone the way she loved Castle either.)

Castle nudged her lightly with his elbow as they walked into the precinct. "So, wanna bet on which one of the boys notices first?"

She laughed. "Five bucks?"

He nodded. "It's a bet then."

She fixed him with a look. "No cheating so act normal. Or as normally as you can around both of them."

He gave her a look of mock offense. "You really think I would cheat to win five bucks? Give me some credit, Beckett. I'm rich, remember? The bet would have to be worth at least, oh, a thousand dollars to make it worth my while to cheat."

She had to laugh. She wasn't entirely sure about that, remembering how competitive he'd gotten when he and the boys had bet on their murder cases back in the fall. But no, she didn't actually think he'd cheat this time, if only because he had to know that if he did, she'd twist his ear. Or something. Punishing him could be a lot more fun now… She shoved the thought out of her mind.

They were running a few minutes later than usual, although it was still before the actual start of her shift, so Kate wasn't surprised to see that both Ryan and Esposito had already arrived. Both the boys had been trained to show up early (as she did) and stay late (ditto), even for paperwork days.

She carefully kept a certain amount of distance between her and Castle as they walked into the bullpen, enough so that their arms had no chance of brushing but not enough to look odd.

They paused by the boys' desks to greet them.

Espo lifted his head a little in a sort of backwards nod of greeting. "Yo, Beckett, Castle."

Ryan smiled his usual, sunny smile (and Kate reflected, not for the first time, that no one looking at Kevin Ryan would ever guess that he was actually such a good cop). "Morning, Beckett. Morning, Castle."

"Hey, guys, what's up?" she and Castle greeted them in near-perfect unison and she couldn't help but glance at Castle, meeting his eyes for a moment, a slight smile curving her lips. First completing each other's sentences and now this. (Oh god, she and Castle were already not far from turning into one of those disgusting couples, who were constantly smiling at each other and completing each other's sentences and generally acting as if they shared a brain.)

"No. Wait. You—hey," Ryan blurted out less than coherently and they all stared at him.

"What are you, a two-year-old? Try speaking in complete sentences, bro," Espo advised.

"Make that a one-year-old," Castle quipped. "Take it from me, two-year-olds are usually more coherent than Ryan just sounded."

"Shut up," Ryan grumbled, narrowing his eyes at Espo, before he turned his gaze back to Kate and Castle. "And you—are you two—no, never mind, you are together now. For real, aren't you?"

What? He—how could he—Kate gaped at Ryan.

"How did you know?" Castle blurted out.

Kate directed a narrow-eyed look at him. Right, nice way to confirm a lucky guess. It had to be a lucky guess. Right? They'd only just arrived like 10 seconds ago!

Espo gaped at her and then at Castle. "Wait, he's right? You two are—when did this happen?"

Kate ignored him for the moment, focusing on Ryan. "What makes you say that?"

Ryan made an aimless gesture with one hand, somehow encompassing both of them. "It's—you know, it's in the way you look."

Castle sputtered a laugh and Ryan colored, narrowing his eyes at Castle, correcting himself, "I meant, it's the way you guys look at each other."

Espo glanced between her and Castle a few times. "What, that Castle's looking at Beckett like she's some hot chick?"

Kate almost choked, leveling a glare at Espo and he immediately backtracked, looking more sheepish than any former Special Forces sniper would ever admit to looking, "I mean, looking at Beckett like she's… a damn good cop who just happens to be attractive?" (Kate inwardly humphed. At least she could still give the Beckett glare and intimidate the boys, even if she appeared to have lost most of her Detective-Beckett prickliness when it came to Castle.)

Castle and Ryan both snickered. "Nice save," Ryan jibed.

Espo shot a quick glare at Ryan before he straightened up. "What I was going to say was that Castle's always looked at Beckett like that. There's nothing new in that."

It was Castle's turn to cough as Kate raised her eyebrows at him, smirking. Not that it was a surprise to hear that Castle had always looked at her with admiration—and more—but still, it was rather… nice to hear. Although why it meant so much, she didn't know, since it wasn't as if he hadn't already told her almost from the beginning that he thought she was extraordinary. Captain Montgomery had been right when he'd said that Castle hadn't exactly been subtle but, yes, somehow, it did mean… something… to hear Esposito, of all people, confirm it.

Ryan grinned at Kate, suddenly looking rather smug.

Uh oh. She was getting a bad feeling about…

"No, Castle looking at Beckett like that isn't new," Ryan agreed cheerfully. "But," he paused dramatically (he'd clearly been spending too much time around Castle), "Beckett looking right back at Castle like that is new."

Kate flushed. Damn it. Where the hell had her poker face gone? (And what was it about being in love—happily in love—that had made her so transparent?) "I'm not—how did I look at Castle that's so different?" she protested rather lamely.

Ryan shrugged a little. "I can't describe it if that's what you mean. I'm not the writer, Castle is. The way you looked at Castle just now… it's… _softer_, that's all."

Kate blushed hotter, feeling both Espo's and Castle's interested gaze and avoiding looking at Castle at all. (Not that it mattered; she knew he was smirking, could picture the exact smirk on his face quite clearly.)

"It's not that obvious, Beckett," Ryan added after a moment. "But I've seen you give Castle a lot of looks over the last year or so. At first, you almost always looked at him like you wanted to shoot him but then you started to smile at him more. Lately—and this morning especially—your smile's just… different, that's all. So am I right? I am, aren't I?"

Bother. Ugh.

Kate steadfastly didn't look at Castle as she huffed, keeping her voice low (and thanking whatever higher powers there might be that it was still early enough that the bullpen wasn't that crowded and they'd all been speaking quietly enough that she didn't think anyone had overheard), "Yes, you're right." She still didn't look at Castle as she added, in her best Detective Beckett tone, "Stop smirking, Castle."

Espo was still gaping at her. "You and Castle—when did this happen? How long have you two been holding out on us?"

Castle made a show of checking his watch (she hadn't been entirely surprised to find out that he had more than one watch so he hadn't even needed to buy a watch to replace the one he'd broken by dropping it into the liquid nitrogen last week—when he'd seen her wearing the dress for Maddy's charity dinner). "About, oh, 5 minutes now. Or, I suppose you could say, about 12 hours now."

Ryan almost choked. "This happened yesterday?"

And she'd had enough. "Yes. So now you know and we are _not_ talking about this anymore. We are at work, you know, and paperwork doesn't just fill itself out."

Espo grimaced. "Yeah, yeah, Beckett, we know," he groused.

Kate sternly hid a smile as she and Castle (finally) made it to her desk.

She handed Castle a five-dollar bill before slipping her purse into the drawer of her desk where she usually kept it.

"I was not expecting Ryan to notice anything so quickly," he admitted as he put the bill away.

"Yeah, well, you're not exactly subtle, Castle."

He raised his eyebrows at her, another smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Me? You're the one who gave it away with the way you apparently—"

"Stop, Castle," she interrupted him, flushing. "I heard him too and we are not talking about it anymore."

"Fine," he agreed, his eyes dancing. "But it doesn't change the fact that you really, really like me."

Ridiculous, smug man. He was enjoying this way too much.

"Don't make me reconsider," she warned—another baseless threat and again, they both knew it. (Damn it.)

"That's okay, Beckett," he grinned. "I really, really like you too."

And there went her knees. Nope, she couldn't feel annoyed at him. Not today, at least.

At some point, she assumed she would get her balance back when it came to him, would be annoyed by him and, yes, angered by him. They were different people and she wasn't naïve enough to expect that everything would always be so easy between them, knew there would be times when they would strike the wrong sorts of sparks off each other rather than the right kind. But it wouldn't be today. Today, she—and they—would just wallow in this new togetherness.

She hid her smile as she drank more of her coffee.

She was just… happy—and yes, she really, really liked him. More than liked him. (Yes, she was definitely twitterpated.)

_~To be continued…~_

* * *

_A/N 2: Because I love Ryan. And I've always found it hard to believe that both the boys could have been so completely oblivious to Castle and Beckett's relationship change in the beginning of S5, unless they'd both just completely given up on Caskett ever getting their act together by then. _

_As always, thank you all for reading! _


	25. Chapter 25

Author's Note: Apologies for the delay in updating but RL got in the way this last week. And I am beyond thrilled that this fic has gone past the 500 review mark. Thank you all so much!

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 25_

"Dude."

Castle started a little, distracted from the heart he'd painstakingly been drawing in the foam of Beckett's coffee. (Yes, he was a sap, ridiculously, even sickeningly, besotted.)

He turned to see Esposito and Ryan standing shoulder to shoulder in front of him, both looking decidedly grim.

Um. He had the sudden sinking feeling that his generally amazing morning was about to take a distinct turn for the worse.

"Hey, guys," he greeted them cautiously. "You want coffee? The machine's all yours," he gestured behind him.

"We want to have a word with you," Ryan said.

Okay, seriously? They were going to give him this talk? They were his friends too.

"About what?" he asked, wondering if he could possibly play dumb long enough until someone else would come into the break room and end this little ambush.

And judging from the looks on Espo's and Ryan's faces, that little ploy had not helped.

"You and Beckett," Espo began meaningfully. "You guys sleeping together now?"

He tried not to choke and hoped he wasn't actually blushing. "None of your business," he managed to say. It wasn't. Beckett would probably shoot them herself if she knew they'd asked such a thing. It occurred to him to wonder if she knew about the pool going on about the two of them—she would like that even less. Although he did wonder, idly, who would win the pool now that it could be settled.

"So what is she, another notch in your bedpost?" Espo asked.

He glared. That was seriously what they thought?! "No! I can't believe you'd—how can you even—I wouldn't—she's not—" he gave up on forming complete sentences and just repeated, "No."

There was a moment of silence and then both Ryan and Esposito started snickering and then laughing outright.

"That was smooth, Castle," Ryan mocked. "Call yourself a writer and can't even speak in complete sentences."

"Defensive much, huh, bro?" Espo quipped. "You should have seen your face!"

He attempted another glare but gave up, forcing a rather wary smile. "Not funny, guys."

"No, it wasn't funny," Ryan agreed. "It was hilarious."

Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, idiots.

They both sobered up and fixed him with serious looks.

"We know you care about her and she looks happy," Ryan said.

He smiled automatically at that. Kate did look happy. She was practically glowing with happiness today; it was in all the smiles she couldn't quite hide, sparkling in her eyes, infusing her voice. And it was because of _him_. And seeing her look so happy just did something to his heart, making it clench a little in his chest even as it felt buoyant with joy.

He had wanted Kate to be happy since pretty much the moment he'd met her, when the haunted shadows in her eyes had drawn him. And in the year since then, since she'd told him the story of her mom, he had wanted to see the devastated sheen of tears in her eyes be turned into laughter, the brightness of joy. He wouldn't have said, exactly, that Kate had been unhappy before he'd met her but Kate—Beckett—had always been so… cautious, so restrained, in the good moments. Always seemed to be inwardly, even subconsciously, bracing herself for the next blow, as if she didn't expect happiness, didn't believe that happiness could last, at least not for her. And more than anything in the world, with the exception of Alexis's happiness, he wanted Kate Beckett to be happy.

He'd told her that he brought her coffee because he liked to see her smile and it was, in some ways, the most simple and the most profound truth of his life—he liked to see Kate Beckett smile. The real, bright smile that didn't appear nearly often enough. She was smiling today. She was happy today. Because of him. And nothing that didn't relate to Alexis had ever made him as happy as he was now because of Kate.

But for all his near euphoria, something in him was also terrified. Because her happiness—this relationship with Kate—just meant _so much_ and now that they were actually together, he couldn't help but be a little terrified too and hope desperately that this relationship wouldn't end the way all his other relationships had. Hope that he could always make her as happy as she was today. Hope that he could be enough for her, could be strong enough for her.

"But just so you know," Espo began, his voice becoming decidedly sober and distinctly menacing again, "if you hurt her…"

"I know," he said quickly, "if I hurt her, you'll hurt me." If he ever seriously hurt Kate, he would probably _volunteer_ to have Espo and Ryan beat him up, he would feel so guilty about it. He would never willingly hurt her and he would do all he could to keep from inadvertently hurting her too.

"Oh, you might not actually feel much pain," Ryan said slowly, drawing the words out in a distinctly threatening fashion. There was no missing the toughness in Ryan now.

Espo finished the thought. "But no one would ever find your body either."

Castle tried very hard not to gulp or show any reaction whatsoever and managed a nod. "Understood."

Damn. Even knowing that the boys (probably) wouldn't actually kill him, the threat managed to be frightening, if only because Castle knew perfectly well that if they did decide to actually kill him, they were perfectly capable of ensuring that no one would, in fact, find his body. They were homicide detectives; they knew all the ways of getting rid of a body. (For that matter, so did he—but that thought didn't exactly help when it was his own potential murder at issue.)

It didn't help either knowing perfectly well that the threat wasn't being delivered only on behalf of Ryan and Espo but was the implicit promise of, oh, pretty much every cop in the building, certainly every other cop in Homicide. He knew enough about the brotherhood of cops to know that and he knew that Beckett was well-respected, even popular, in Homicide, partly because she'd proven herself but also because she was eminently fair and, unlike a lot of detectives, didn't talk down to the uniforms or muscle in to take undeserved credit but always made sure to give credit where it was due to every uniform who helped on a case.

"Good." Espo nodded and left the break room.

Ryan followed him but he paused at the door. "Oh and Castle?"

Castle looked at Ryan a little warily. "Yeah?"

Ryan smiled. "I'm happy for you guys."

And then he was gone before Castle could so much as respond.

Okay. That had been… not exactly what he was expecting.

He shook his head a little to clear it and picked up Beckett's coffee to take it to her.

She took it with one of the wide, bright smiles that lit up her eyes. "Thanks, Castle."

He saw her smile soften, her cheeks flushing a little with pleasure, as she noted the heart shape on the foam. And he decided that he really didn't care if he was a sap, as long as it made Kate Beckett look like that.

"Were the boys giving you a hard time just now?" she asked after a moment.

He managed a small shrug. "Sort of. They gave me the talk, you know, that if I hurt you, they would hurt me."

She made a small face. "They shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry they put you through it."

"I'm not," he blurted out immediately, surprising even himself.

"You're not?"

"No. I'm glad they did it because I know it's because they care and people should have people that look out for them like that, to have their back, and I know they've got yours, not because you can't take care of yourself—I know you can—but we all need help sometimes." It was not the most coherent of explanations and he was momentarily disgusted with himself. He was a writer; he should be able to explain this better, more eloquently.

But then she moved her hand to let her fingers brush briefly against his where it rested on her desk. "Oh, Castle," she sighed softly. "You're such a good man."

_A good man._ Warmth settled in his chest and he thought that he would do just about anything if it meant that Kate Beckett would keep looking at him the way she was now. Kate thought he was a good man. And he thought that maybe he really was—could be—good enough for her. He knew that he would willingly spend the rest of his life trying.

He managed a rather rueful face. "I try."

She gave him a soft, affectionate look even as she ostensibly turned her attention back to the paperwork on her desk, picking up her pen again. But before she started to write, she paused and added, quietly, not quite looking at him, "The boys mean well but I know I don't need protection from you. I trust you, Castle."

_Oh Kate._ His breath caught in his throat, his heart seeming to swell in his chest. She trusted him. And from Kate Beckett, that was almost as close to a declaration of love as you could get without the actual words. At least, when combined with the other things she'd said to him, the way she'd been with him last night. He knew her, knew how slow she was to trust anyone. And he knew, too, that he had hurt her and violated her trust before when he'd looked into her mom's case without her permission. But she had forgiven him. And somehow, amazingly, she had come to trust him again. Trust him with her body—he felt a flicker of arousal at the thought and had to forcibly yank his mind away from dwelling on the memories that accompanied it—and more importantly, trust him with her heart. Her vulnerable, well-protected heart.

It was both uplifting and humbling at the same time. He was suddenly reminded of the way he'd felt years ago whenever baby Alexis had fallen asleep on his chest and he would look at her, at the tiny, fragile creature who was so entirely dependent on him and who trusted him enough to sleep while lying on his chest, and he'd been overwhelmed at the magnitude of the responsibility. And all he could do was make a silent, solemn vow to Alexis and to whatever higher powers there might be that he would always be there for Alexis, would always take care of her and protect her and never ever do anything that might harm her in any way.

Kate Beckett trusted him and, except for Alexis's love and trust, nothing would ever mean more to him. And he made a silent vow to Kate and to himself (and to Jim and, yes, Johanna Beckett too, wherever she was) that he would never do anything to hurt Kate, would never violate her trust again, would be there for her, always.

He was distracted, startled out of his thoughts when his phone buzzed in his jacket and he pulled it out to see that it was a new text message from his mother. (Odd. His mother rarely texted.)

He opened the message and then grimaced, momentarily covering his face with his hand. He supposed he should have been expecting something of the sort but he hadn't thought about it, had been preoccupied with Kate, and to be entirely honest, had been a little too giddy for the better part of the morning to think entirely clearly.

He felt Beckett's glance and then heard her ask, "Castle, what is it?"

He didn't answer in words, only handed over his phone so she, too, could read the message from his mother.

_Alexis tells me you and Katherine have finally come to your senses and realized what I've known for months, that you two are perfect for each other. I'm glad to see you finally took my advice, Richard. I'll come over for dinner tonight and you two can tell me all about it. _

Kate's eyes brightened as she smiled at his phone and then turned her smile on him. "I guess I don't need to worry about what Martha thinks about us."

"Maybe we should eat dinner out," he suggested hopefully. "A date night? I could get us a table at Le Cirque or something." Or not Le Cirque since that would attract the attention of the press (oh crap, the press—he made a mental note to talk to Kate about that) but still, a date night with Kate Beckett—he wanted it.

She grinned at him. "Don't be silly, Castle. You know we can't avoid your mother forever."

"We could try," he groused although, of course, she was right. Pity. He sighed. "Fine, we'll have dinner with my mother. I apologize beforehand for anything my mother might say. She doesn't understand the concept of personal privacy sometimes." (Even so, it was hard to feel at all disappointed when Kate was smiling at him the way she was.)

She only laughed. "You're being ridiculous. I'm not worried about Martha."

"That makes one of us," he muttered but he couldn't help but smile because, god, he loved how comfortable Kate had become around his family now. It was almost enough to make him feel rather grateful to Scott Dunn, in a twisted way, for making it so Kate would need to stay at the loft for so long. He couldn't imagine where he and Beckett would be, relationship-wise, if it hadn't been for Beckett staying at the loft these past weeks, but he knew they'd be nowhere near where they were now. Until she'd stayed at the loft, Beckett hadn't spent much time with either his mother or Alexis, had really only seen them a handful of times, and had always preserved a little reserve, a little distance, in their interactions. (To the extent that anyone could really act distant and reserved around his mother.)

Now—well, now Kate had helped his mother prepare for an audition, had played laser tag with him and Alexis. Kate had become more a part of his family than Gina had ever been—than Meredith had ever been, really. And he loved it. He was a little concerned over Alexis's odd reaction that morning—he knew she must have been embarrassed to find out about him and Kate the way she had—but he knew how much Alexis had come to care about Kate, couldn't imagine that his kind, fair-minded daughter would take some sort of irrational dislike to Kate just because he and Kate were together now.

Beckett rolled her eyes at him and then fixed a questioning look on him. "I do have one question, though, Castle."

"What?"

"What did Martha mean when she says you took her advice? What advice?"

"I have no ide—" he began since he'd been confused by that (but hadn't thought much about it because feeling at a loss was a relatively common emotion for him where his mother was concerned)—he hadn't talked to his mother about his feelings for Beckett. He broke off, something his mother had said to him a couple months ago returning to mind. "No, wait, never mind, I do know what she's talking about."

"And what is it?"

"It was something she said to me right after we closed the Victor Fink case a couple months ago, you remember, the one with Jeremy Preswick, the guy with amnesia."

She nodded. "Of course I remember. What did Martha say?"

"It was after I got home that morning after we'd finally finished up all the paperwork to get the charges against Jeremy officially dropped. I walked in and my mother made a comment about me doing a walk of shame."

"Oh." Kate snorted a soft laugh, even as she blushed, apparently remembering her own awkward walk of shame that morning.

"I told my mother that I'd been with you finishing up a case and my mother…" he paused, suddenly, ridiculously, a little unsure of how Kate might react. Which was entirely stupid of him considering everything he and Kate had said and done last night but this was still so… new… that he was finding it a little hard to adapt to this brave new world.

"Stop stalling, Castle."

"My mother said, and I quote, 'you should kiss that girl while you're both young,'" he blurted out.

Beckett blinked and then she burst out laughing, enough that a couple people looked over at them since Beckett didn't laugh out loud often at work. (He was abruptly thankful to his mother for her blunt suggestion—for once—because he loved hearing Beckett's laugh.)

"Hey Beckett," Espo scooted his chair over to join them, followed (of course) by Ryan, who sent his own chair rolling towards them with enough speed that he needed to reach out and grasp the arm rest on Ryan's chair before Ryan went rolling right past while Espo just rolled his eyes. "Wanna tell us the joke?"

"Yeah, Beckett, never knew doing paperwork could be so funny," Ryan chimed in.

Beckett rolled her eyes. "Castle just told me about something funny Martha said once."

They both turned their attention to him. "Well, tell us what Mrs. R. said too. Come on, Castle, we're stuck doing paperwork," Ryan wheedled.

Yeah, he was not telling the boys what his mother had said. Ever.

He glanced at Beckett to see that she was watching him expectantly, amusement still glinting in her eyes, but without the slightest trace of embarrassment and he realized that she already knew he wouldn't tell the boys what his mother had said about them. (She trusted him.)

He thought quickly. "I was just telling Beckett about when Alexis helped my mother set up a MySpace account—or a MyFace account as my mother persists in calling it."

Espo snickered. "A MyFace account? That's a catchy name."

Castle grinned. "Yeah, I know. And my mother, being my mother, used a nearly 30-year-old picture of her to put on her profile page."

"Not that unusual, lots of people do that sort of thing," Ryan commented. "The internet allows people to pretend to be what they're not."

"Like my mother pretending she's still young?" Castle retorted and Beckett swatted his arm.

"Be nice, Castle, or I'm telling Martha you said that."

He gave her an exaggerated injured expression. "I'm being honest. My mother is many things but you have to admit a 30-year-old picture of her is not going to be an honest representation."

"So what was so funny?" Espo prompted.

Oh right. Damn it, he hadn't quite thought this through. "My mother got a friend request from her high school sweetheart and it turned out his picture looked like it was probably the one from his college yearbook or something and my mother started to panic over what he would think of how much she had changed from the picture. But my mother, in true Martha Rodgers fashion, agreed to meet up with him and got dressed up to the nines and I asked what she would do if it turned out he was disappointed in how she'd changed over the last 30 years. And my mother shimmied her hips, making the beads on her dress dance, and said, 'Oh please, darling, look at me. Come on, it doesn't get any better than this.'" He pitched his voice into a (bad) imitation of his mother's declaration.

Beckett let out another laugh while the boys chuckled.

"Mrs. R. is a character," Ryan commented.

Beckett grinned. "Martha is a lot of fun and she does have some great stories."

"At least half of which are entirely made up," he inserted.

Espo gave him a look. "Says the man who makes up stories for a living."

Ryan snickered and Beckett smirked at him while he pulled an exaggerated pout.

"Okay, boys, you've had your funny story. Now go back to work," Beckett said briskly.

The boys made faces at her but did as she said and he relaxed a little.

Beckett turned back to him with a grin, her eyes bright. "Nice story about Martha, Castle."

He shrugged. "My mother is an almost endless source of amusing stories."

"And she told you that you should kiss me. Why didn't you?" Beckett's eyes danced. And he forgot how to breathe because she was smiling at him (well, smirking at him), her eyes lit up with green sparks of amusement and affection, and she was teasing him—flirting with him—and she was so, so breathtakingly beautiful that he thought he would happily spend the rest of his life looking at her.

He managed to give her a rather challenging look. "Because I decided that I wanted to not get shot more than I wanted to kiss you."

Beckett scoffed. "Fortune favors the bold. You could have taken your chances. Or didn't you believe that I would succumb to your charm?" she asked teasingly.

He gave her a steady, serious look. "Maybe, if you were less important to me, I could have—and would have," he admitted. True enough—he'd never been so immediately attracted to a woman, never wanted a woman as fiercely as he'd wanted Kate from the moment he'd set eyes on her, and then waited more than a year to kiss that woman. He hadn't really had to _try _to impress a woman in years, hadn't had to make an effort. Until Kate Beckett had turned him down and made it clear that she found him irritating and didn't like him—and he'd been caught, had set out to make her like him. And he'd realized, slowly, that he wanted not only her body but her friendship, her trust, and then, finally, her heart, as he'd—unwittingly, really, but perhaps inevitably—tumbled headlong into love with her. "But I decided a long time ago that I wanted to keep you in my life and I didn't want to risk losing that by making an idiot mistake and kissing you when I wasn't sure you wanted me to."

She blushed and admitted, very quietly, not quite meeting his eyes, "I did want you to kiss me. I… was always attracted to you too. Not that I admitted it to myself until recently," she added. "But I'd have given in if you'd kissed me. I know I would have."

_Oh god_. Did she have to say such things in the middle of the bullpen when he couldn't, absolutely couldn't, reach out and kiss her?

He managed a smirk. "Now you tell me."

"Martha was right. You should have kissed me."

He grinned, deliberately waggling his eyebrows at her, and this time he didn't need to force it. "Instead you kissed me first. I think I like it better this way." He affected a thoughtful expression. "You were just overcome with the sheer force of your lust for me and kissed me first."

She snorted. "I was not overcome with lust."

He put on an innocent expression. "Now, now, Beckett, it's not good to lie." The expression dissolved almost immediately—because Beckett's look was becoming distinctly alarming. He dropped the Beckett-teasing, if only to save his ear from being twisted off. "But we must make sure that my mother knows I did not actually take her advice because if she gets it into her head that I did take her advice, my mother will start acting as if she is single-handedly responsible for us being together and I will never, ever hear the end of it."

He relaxed as Beckett's expression softened into a smile again. "Well, just to spare you from the torture of hearing Martha gloat, I suppose we can tell her that you didn't take her advice."

"Thank you," he said with a fervency that was not entirely feigned.

She gave him a last, small smile and then returned to her paperwork while he tried not to watch her since she still didn't like it when he watched her doing paperwork (_staring is still creepy, Castle_, as she'd told him earlier that morning).

Instead he settled to a cheerful contemplation of the day. His mother knew and clearly approved (not that he'd been at all concerned about that). Montgomery knew and approved; the boys knew and approved, as long as he didn't hurt Beckett (which was also fine, as he had absolutely no intention of ever hurting Beckett).

As for Alexis—his cheer faded a little. Alexis's demeanor that morning had been a little troubling and he hadn't missed the way Alexis had called Kate "Detective" which was something she hadn't called Kate since the first days of Kate's stay at the loft. More troubling had been Alexis's tone. In any other teen, the politeness of it would probably have been reassuring but he knew Alexis and her overly polite voice was not a good sign. Alexis had good manners—he'd been at some pains to instill them in her—but she wasn't stiff or formal (unsurprisingly, since he himself wasn't either) and she hadn't treated Kate with that sort of careful courtesy since Kate had moved in. And Alexis tended to act formal when she was feeling vulnerable, unsure of herself, using politeness as a shield. He always knew that Meredith had done something to bother Alexis when Alexis started acting as if Meredith was a distant relative whom she didn't know very well.

But he knew his daughter and he knew how much Alexis cared about Kate now. And he was confident that Alexis would talk to him about whatever was bothering her.

He remembered the way Kate had said, _I care about Alexis too_, and smiled. No, he wasn't worried about Alexis's reaction. Not really. Not much, at any rate.

* * *

Castle turned to Beckett as they entered the loft that evening. His mother had not arrived yet and Alexis was nowhere in sight, was most likely in her room. Which was somewhat concerning since Alexis usually stayed downstairs in the living room until after dinner.

"I'm going to go up and see if Alexis is home," he said.

Beckett nodded. "Okay. I was thinking we could order in tonight in case talking to Alexis takes some time and that way we don't have to worry about cooking."

"Sounds good. You can pick. You know where the delivery menus are." He tugged her in to kiss her quickly on the lips—well, he intended for the kiss to be brief but he'd spent the entire day not kissing Beckett and he couldn't bring himself to pull away that quickly and fortunately, judging from the way she immediately melted against him, she didn't seem any more inclined to end the kiss than he was. God, he was never ever going to get tired of being able to kiss Kate Beckett, never going to get enough of the taste of her, the feel of her.

But he did, finally, manage to stop kissing her, drawing back just a little to see her looking deliciously dazed and breathless (pretty much the way he felt too).

She blinked a few times and then gave him a gentle nudge with her hands as she let her arms fall from around his neck. "Go talk to your daughter, Castle."

He released her and stepped back. "I'm going, I'm going." He backed towards the stairs and only turned around at the last second, but even as he started up the stairs, he glanced back to see her watching him, a faint, soft smile playing around her lips. The words, _I love you_, came to his lips, almost bursting out of him, but he closed his lips firmly. He wasn't going to say the words out loud, not quite yet. Would give this new relationship of theirs a little more time to settle, become more comfortable. (And after the way she'd reacted when he'd only said he thought he was falling in love with her, he couldn't deny his heart was a little apprehensive about saying the real words, irrational as it was. Because he believed—_knew_—that Kate loved him. But this was Kate, cautious and still emotionally reserved, and he wasn't sure she was ready to hear the words yet.)

He knocked gently on Alexis's door. "Alexis? Sweetheart, can I come in?"

"Come in, Dad."

He pushed open Alexis's door and stepped inside, closing her door behind him.

Alexis turned away from her desk to face him while he sat down on her bed and then gestured for her to come sit next to him.

She did, after just a moment of hesitation, and he touched his hand gently to her chin, nudging her now-blushing face until he could meet her eyes.

"I wanted to talk to you about this morning, about me and Beckett," he began, a little uncertainly. He still didn't know what to say. Alexis knew he dated but he had never prepared for how to talk to Alexis about seeing a woman leaving his bedroom early in the morning after spending the night with him. There was a reason he never invited women over. He hadn't even let Gina spend the night until after they'd been engaged and he'd had a long talk with Alexis before he'd proposed to Gina and another talk before Gina moved in. He and Alexis had a mostly-unspoken understanding never to talk about his, um, social life until a relationship got to the point where he was comfortable introducing the woman to Alexis (which had almost never happened), mostly because he preferred to pretend that Alexis still had no idea what sex was and believed that he spent his occasional nights out with women talking or playing board games (as he'd told Alexis when she'd been around 6 and had asked him after one such night out what he did when he went out.)

Kate was, obviously, not just any woman to him, was so far removed from being just another woman that he honestly wasn't sure how to approach this conversation with Alexis, how to tell her that he and Kate had gone from being friends to lovers, especially when Alexis had already seen Kate leaving his bedroom in the morning. "I—uh—Kate told me what happened this morning, how you found out. I'm sorry, Alexis."

A faint frown of confusion flickered across her face. "You're sorry?"

"Sorry you found out that way," he clarified. "I know it must have been—that isn't how I intended to tell you but this… me and Kate… was a little sudden and there wasn't really time to talk to you beforehand." Which was true enough. Ideally, he supposed he would have had a chance to talk to Alexis before he and Kate slept together but with the way things had happened, it hadn't really been an option, even if he'd had the higher brain power to think of such a thing. "I know it must be weird for you because you know Kate. Are you okay with this, me and Kate being together, pumpkin?"

He found himself holding his breath. Because, oh god, what would he do if Alexis said she wasn't? Alexis had never indicated she had a problem with him dating but she was older now, a teenager and growing up way too quickly, and she knew Kate in a way she hadn't known any other woman he'd ever dated, which had to make some difference. If Alexis wasn't happy about this, if she asked him to, he would have to give Kate up.

Wouldn't he? Her entire life, he had always put Alexis first, let her happiness come above his own (which, for the most part, hadn't been difficult because he and Alexis didn't disagree often and Alexis's happiness made him happy.) But for the first time in Alexis's life, though, he suddenly knew that even if Alexis wasn't happy about his relationship with Kate, he wouldn't—he couldn't—give Kate up. Alexis's opinion mattered, would always matter to him, but this was _his_ life; Kate was his choice. And Alexis would have to learn to accept it, which she would, he believed that. But oh god, it might nearly split him in half until Alexis accepted it because nothing hurt him as much as being at odds with Alexis did, as he knew from the few times that it had happened.

"You… really care about her, don't you, Dad," she said quietly, and in spite of the phrasing, it wasn't a question. His breath rushed out of him, hope fluttering in his chest, along with his usual optimism, because she didn't sound upset.

"Yeah, Alexis, I do," he responded carefully. "But you know nothing and no one will ever come between you and me."

That got him a brief, faint smile. "I know." And he relaxed a little because in her tone was a tinge of her usual _Silly Dad_ tone that she reserved for when he'd said something ridiculous or so obvious it didn't need to be said.

She paused and then asked, "Does she make you happy?"

"Yeah, she does." And that was the simple truth.

Alexis nodded. "Okay, good. I want you to be happy."

Oh, his little girl. He felt a surge of love so powerful he was, not for the first time, amazed that he didn't physically burst from it, knocked completely off his feet by the force of his love for his daughter. He put his arm around her shoulders, tugging her in to press a kiss against her hair. "So you're okay with this?"

"Yes, Dad, I'm okay. I'm happy if you're happy," she said, repeating something he occasionally said to her.

He suddenly felt like an idiot for even questioning it in the first place. He knew his daughter. He kissed her hair again. "Love you, pumpkin," he murmured against her hair.

"Love you too."

He smiled. His precious girl. He didn't particularly like Meredith anymore and was more than glad that she lived on the other side of the country, but she had given him Alexis and Alexis was, still, always, the best thing that had ever happened to him.

"Dad?" she asked against his shoulder.

He drew back just enough to meet her eyes. "Yeah, sweetheart?"

"So is she… moving in, like, for real now? I mean—I know she's been staying here because she hasn't found an apartment yet but are you—is she—"

"I don't know, Alexis," he answered quickly. "We haven't talked about that at all. This… it's new and I don't know what she thinks about that." He didn't want Beckett to move out, not now, not ever. He loved having Beckett around all the time, loved seeing her in the mornings before work and in the evenings after work, loved seeing her on the weekends and on the days she was off-duty. And after last night, he most certainly never wanted to spend another night without her again. He wanted to fall asleep beside her every night, wake up beside her every morning (which he had not been able to do this morning, even if he did understand and appreciate her reasoning, but even so, waking up alone this morning had not been particularly pleasant.) "But whatever happens, we'll talk about it with you," he promised. He and Kate would have to. He might not want Beckett to ever leave but he didn't doubt that Beckett had her own thoughts on that and the loft was Alexis's home as much as it was his.

He bent and kissed Alexis's forehead. "Gram will be over for dinner. I think we're just going to order in tonight. Any preferences?"

She shook her head. "Anything's fine."

"Okay." He stood up and then paused at the door, looking back at her. "Kate cares about you a lot, you know, sweetie."

He inwardly frowned as a vague shadow of some expression he couldn't quite read flitted across her face.

"I'm fine, Dad," was all she said in response. "I'll come down for dinner in a little while."

"Okay, pumpkin."

He left her room after giving her a last look. That was… odd… He wasn't entirely sure what had just happened. He would have said Alexis was fine with him and Beckett being together—she'd said it was fine and she wanted him to be happy and her eyes, her expression, had been clear when she'd said it.

But something had changed when he'd said that Kate cared about her too. But he didn't see why that—which Alexis had to know already—would have made Alexis look… the way she had. And what bothered him was that he couldn't even identify what the expression had been so he couldn't, quite, confront her about it since he wasn't even sure it was necessarily a bad thing. He just… didn't like the sense that he didn't know what his daughter was thinking or feeling. He wasn't used to it. He suppressed a sigh. He supposed, with her growing up as fast as she was, he really needed to get used to it. He just didn't want to.

He wanted Alexis to stay young, his little girl, forever, where she felt comfortable talking to him about everything that went on in her life. But that time had passed, years ago, really, from the moment she'd become a teenager or even before that. He just didn't want to admit it.

At that moment, he thought he would give just about everything he owned for Alexis to be back at the age of hosting tea parties for herself and her dolls and him. Even if, after the first few of them, those tea parties had been rather excruciating affairs, him scrunched up in chairs made for much smaller people and making a show of drinking and eating food that didn't exist (or wasn't actually edible).

He sighed and mentally shook himself out of his suddenly maudlin mood.

Kate was waiting downstairs. Kate, who loved him, who cared about his daughter and his mother. Alexis was fine with his and Kate's new relationship. As was his mother. He felt a smile blooming on his face. Yeah, he was the luckiest man in the world.

_~To be continued…~_


	26. Chapter 26

Author's Note: Apologies, again, for the delay in posting but RL got in the way as I can't (sadly) spend all day writing Castle fanfic.

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 26_

Kate immediately looked up when Castle came back downstairs and relaxed a little when she saw the smile on his face.

She had been rather ridiculously nervous, restless even, while Castle had been talking to Alexis. She'd quickly changed into casual clothes (as a way of keeping herself busy) and then found herself pacing around the living room of the loft afterwards.

But she relaxed once she saw the smile on his face. "Is Alexis okay with us?"

He smiled, slipping his arm around her waist and kissing her forehead. "She's fine." His expression softened, a light entering his eyes. "She said she wants me to be happy."

She smiled. "She loves you."

"I know," he said quietly and the simple confidence in the statement made her heart melt.

He kissed her forehead again and smiled more brightly. "She said anything is fine for dinner, by the way. What were you thinking of?"

"I was thinking Chinese."

"That sounds great."

"Castle, is it okay if I talk to Alexis too?"

He raised his eyebrows at her. "You're asking my permission?"

She flushed a little. "She's your daughter and I don't want to make it seem like I don't trust you when it comes to talking to her about us." She felt uncharacteristically uncertain of herself but then she'd never dated anyone with a kid before and she'd always known that Castle basically came as a package deal. She couldn't be with Castle without accepting Alexis or being accepted by Alexis, for that matter. She'd seen enough and heard enough about how kids could react to their parents' new significant others or their step-parents to know that there was the potential for issues. And, especially after the mortifying encounter that morning, she felt she needed to talk to Alexis herself. She _wanted_ to talk to Alexis herself, make sure that her own relationship with Alexis that had grown over the last weeks wasn't going to be negatively affected because she and Castle were together.

"I trust you. You can talk to Alexis about anything you want."

He trusted her with his daughter. She'd known it but it was still a humbling, even frightening, thing to hear because what did she know about kids in general or even teenagers? She didn't even know any other teenagers, almost never dealt with them except at work, which was a very different thing, and while it had been… easy to be Alexis's friend in these last few weeks, Kate expected that her relationship with Alexis would almost inevitably shift a little now that Kate was Alexis's dad's… girlfriend.

And Kate could only hope desperately that her life of murder and death didn't somehow taint Alexis's life, that Kate's defenses and her insecurities and her fears wouldn't, somehow, also result in pushing Alexis away.

Castle waved the menu of their usual Chinese place at her. "Go and talk to Alexis and I can order food. I assume you want your usual?"

She smiled, feeling her heart give a silly little flutter at this reminder of how well he knew her, how much he remembered about her. "Thanks, Castle. Don't forget to order food for Martha too."

He made a face at her. "Thanks for the reminder. I think I may have just lost my appetite." Silly man. Silly, melodramatic man.

She only laughed at him as she went upstairs and knocked lightly on Alexis's door. "Alexis, can I come in?"

All amusement faded as she opened Alexis's door once Alexis had said she could come in.

Alexis was seated at her desk and, after a momentary hesitation, Kate opted to sit on the bed. The other chair was on the other side of the room and Kate didn't really want to be that far away from Alexis when they had this conversation.

Alexis turned her chair around to face Kate but then remained quiet, not looking at Kate but keeping her gaze lowered, fixed on her lap or the floor or anywhere that didn't risk meeting Kate's eyes.

Kate's heart pinched. This wasn't the girl she'd gotten to know so well over the last weeks. Something was wrong, different now. Not that she had the slightest idea what it could be, aside from lingering awkwardness over this morning but that didn't explain everything. Oh god, she didn't know how to do this. This wasn't her, talking about personal things, dealing with other people and relationships.

But she cared about Alexis too. She loved listening to Alexis talk about her classes and her friends and clothes and boys and the other pieces of a teenage girl's life. She loved the way listening to Alexis had a way of making Kate forget, for minutes at a time, about all the death and darkness she saw every day. Loved the way Alexis's bright smile and laughter, still so innocent in spite of Alexis's maturity, could brighten up an entire day.

Kate took a breath. She could do this. She would do this.

"Alexis, I thought we should talk about… me and your dad," she began, a little awkwardly.

"I already told Dad I'm fine with you two being… together. My dad… cares about you so as long as you care about him too—and you do, don't you?" Alexis looked up, meeting her eyes for the first time, as she asked the question, her voice suddenly stronger, even challenging.

"I…" _I love him_. The words stuck in her throat because she'd never admitted it out loud in so many words, hadn't actually said those words to anyone but her dad in all the years since her mom's death. She hadn't said them to Castle. (Yet.) "I care about him a lot," she finally managed to say.

Alexis nodded. "That's… good, that's all I need to know."

Alexis's apparent acceptance of her and Castle's relationship was reassuring, of course, but Kate couldn't shake the feeling that something was still off and realized, after a moment, what it was. Alexis was sitting bolt upright in her chair, tension in the set of her chin and her shoulders. And that was unlike her too. When Alexis was at home, it showed in her posture and her movements; she was always relaxed, at ease, comfortable. She wasn't now.

Kate cast about in her mind for a reason and finally settled for saying, on a guess, "Alexis, I would never try to come between you and your dad, you know that, right?"

"You couldn't." The girl's answer was swift, almost brusque in its certainty. Part of Kate marveled, again, at the strength of the bond between Castle and Alexis, her heart melting. He was such a good father, had done so well in raising Alexis on his own. But the rest of her inwardly frowned because Alexis's tone had sounded almost… hostile, not quite, but there'd been a definite coolness to it.

Kate decided to go for the direct approach; that usually worked best in an interrogation and while she didn't like to think of the word in relation to Alexis, the concept held up. "Alexis, what's wrong? You sound… upset with me and I don't know why. If it's because of me and your dad, you can tell me. I care about you and whatever else, I'm your friend too, Alexis, and I hope… you know you can always talk to me if you want to."

There was a long moment of silence and then Alexis said, coolly, "You're very clever but you and my dad are together now so you don't have to pretend anymore."

For a moment, she could only gape at Alexis, so utterly thrown off by Alexis's words that she couldn't even think of a response. "What—I don't—I'm not pretending anything," she finally managed to say. She felt automatic defensiveness rising up inside her in reaction to Alexis's tone and words but she stamped it down. Alexis was just a teenager, albeit a mature one, and she had clearly misconceived or misunderstood something, and getting defensive or angry about it was absolutely not the way to handle this. Kate got her breath back and finally asked, keeping her voice as mild as possible, "Why would you say I'm pretending?"

"I'm the daughter of a single father."

Kate blinked. Alexis wasn't prone to non sequiturs (unlike her dad). "I know," she answered cautiously.

"I've spent my entire life seeing the way women act around my dad—and the way they act around me because of my dad."

Oh. Kate stilled. She could guess where this was going now and her heart was beginning to hurt on Alexis's behalf.

"My dad used to take me to the park every day and… he was popular," Alexis said with a small twist of her lips that expressed her opinion eloquently.

Kate suddenly remembered the first case Castle had officially been shadowing her for, the one involving the nanny, and the way Castle had mentioned taking Alexis to the park every day, the way he'd said those were some of the best days of his life. She remembered his soft smile, the one that had drawn her in, tugged at her, made her want to like him—until he had, characteristically for him at the time, made a comment about the lonely single mothers he met at the park, and she'd been reminded that he was a jackass playboy. (Oh, Castle. Not for the first time, Kate thought that in some ways, Castle might have been his own worst enemy back then, constantly deflecting attention whenever he'd inadvertently allowed a glimpse of his real, loving heart by making some wiseass or crude comment that annoyed her all over again.)

"All the women, the single moms, used to fawn over me and exclaim over how cute I was, how precocious, but they would be looking at my dad. It had nothing to do with me at all. They didn't ever really care about me; it was always Dad that women cared about."

"Alexis, you… you don't know that for sure," Kate said, not really believing her own words but not able to stand the cynicism in Alexis's tone either. Alexis, who was generally so cheerful, so… innocent still. It was so wrong to hear Alexis sounding so… worldly. And she could hear, too, the lingering hurt, the insecurities, creeping into Alexis's tone.

Alexis gave a brief, unamused laugh. "I do know that for sure. When I would go to the park sometimes with my friends and their moms, a lot of those same women would be there and they never gave me a second look. I don't think they even recognized me without my dad there."

"I'm sorry," Kate found herself saying, not even sure why, except that it seemed like the thing to say. She had wondered at how well-adjusted Alexis was, as the child of a single parent and a single parent who had, after all, been divorced twice. She was beginning to see that, as well-adjusted as Alexis was, she did have her own scars from her family situation.

Alexis's expression softened just a little. "Dad didn't like the women who fawned over me. He's not an idiot. He knew how fake it was." She paused and then added, her tone harder, "He didn't mind when women flirted with him but he drew the line at women who tried to use me to get to him."

Of course he would.

There was a pause. While Kate could see the vague outlines of Alexis's point, she couldn't imagine that Alexis was implying that she had been fawning over Alexis in order to "get to" Castle. Alexis might be irritated with her, might not trust her right now, but Alexis was too smart and too fair to accuse her of that. At least the Alexis she'd gotten to know over the last weeks always had been.

"Dad never let me meet most of his… women but I've met a couple of his girlfriends and it was the same with them. They would always fawn over me but I knew it was because of Dad. Gina didn't fawn over me or anything but she was nice. I liked her well enough."

Kate inwardly frowned at Alexis's use of the past tense. She had liked Gina—but she didn't now?

"She wasn't the domestic type but she made an effort, at least at first, and she tried to take care of me, tell me about… girl things, you know," Alexis said, blushing a little.

Kate nodded, a little amused in spite of herself at Alexis's innocence to blush over the mention of such things. She momentarily wondered if that wasn't exactly why Castle had decided to remarry in the first place, to ensure that Alexis had a mother figure around. Alexis had been ten when Castle married Gina, had been getting close to the age where a mother figure would have been important, the pre-teen years and the start of puberty.

"But once Gina and my dad started fighting more, Gina stopped paying much attention to me too." Alexis paused and then asked, her voice changing, "Do you know how many birthday cards I've received from Gina since she left me and Dad?"

Kate blinked. It was a mostly rhetorical question but Kate answered it anyway. "No."

"None. Gina left when I was 13. I haven't heard from her or seen her since except when she's called me to ask me to bug Dad about his writing. She used to do that when they were together too but once she left, Dad could at least avoid her phone calls so she called me instead."

Kate decided that she disliked Gina too. She'd barely met the woman but now she disliked her. To have been Alexis's step-mom for three years, knowing Alexis for longer than that, and then to drop Alexis so completely. She had seen enough of the aftermath of divorces over her years in homicide to know it wasn't very uncommon but she realized how hurtful that must be to the children. Alexis's tone was fairly neutral but Kate could guess at Alexis's former hurt and disillusionment. And again, Gina had used Alexis as a means of access to Castle, even if it weren't for romantic purposes but as his publisher.

"My own mom—" Alexis broke off abruptly, her lips twisting a little, before she ducked her head for a moment and then looked up, continuing on, her voice much quieter, "Mom does love me, in her own way, but she really only comes to see me when she wants something from Dad, usually to spend his money since shopping is all we ever really do together and when we shop together, we use my credit card, the one Dad pays for, not the one she has to pay for herself."

And Kate definitely disliked Meredith.

"I thought you were different."

Kate opened her mouth on an automatic instinctive protest that she was but then shut it again. Now wasn't the time to interrupt Alexis. And while Alexis was normally open and friendly, it wasn't typical of Alexis to talk so much about her feelings and certainly not about Castle's personal life. Kate got the distinct sense that Alexis had never talked about most of this before, that this was something that had been slowly building inside her but now that Alexis had started to talk about it, she couldn't hold it in.

"You didn't flirt with Dad the way other women always have."

(That wasn't strictly true, Kate couldn't help but think. A lot of her back-and-forth with Castle tended to edge into the realm of flirtation but it had mostly been at work; it was different in the loft, partly because Castle was different in the loft, less inclined to innuendo and flirtation himself. Alexis wouldn't have been witness to most of the pseudo-flirtatious exchanges.)

"You don't fawn over him or flatter him; you treated him like he's just your friend. Dad likes it and I liked it too, that you tease him and give him a hard time when he's being silly."

"Your dad is my friend. He's my best friend in a lot of ways. That hasn't changed, Alexis."

"And now you and Dad are together and that's fine. Dad says you make him happy and I want him to be happy. I'm fine and I know I'll still have Dad and my grandmother and Dad's always been enough for me. I just don't want you to pretend you care about me when it's really only Dad you care about. I don't like it when people pretend and I don't need you."

Kate flinched in spite of herself at the hard words, even though she could tell from the look in Alexis's eyes, the suppressed emotion crammed into her voice, that the brave sentiments weren't really what Alexis was feeling.

_Oh, Alexis… _

Kate recognized what this was, knew why Alexis was freezing her out like this. And it occurred to Kate that she and Alexis were more similar than she had thought, had been affected more similarly by the ways they'd been hurt in the past, even if the circumstances had been different.

Alexis was protecting herself, pre-emptively pushing Kate away because she expected that Kate's caring about her would last only as long as her romantic relationship with Castle lasted. And while Kate hoped—believed—that this was _it_ for her—that Castle was _it_ for her—Alexis couldn't be expected to know that. Alexis, who had seen her mother leave her, who had seen her father's second marriage fail and her stepmother essentially abandon her the moment the marriage ended. None of the women in Castle's life had stuck around for Alexis before.

And Kate remembered the hurt, the disillusionment, threaded through Alexis's voice when she'd said that she had thought Kate was different.

Alexis _had_ grown to care about her, see her as a friend, a mutual friend of both hers and her dad's. And Kate had to admit that it was, at least partly, her own fault that Alexis had believed that Kate was interested only in being Castle's friend. Kate had been resisting her more-than-friendly feelings for Castle for so long, had been so bound and determined to keep things safe and platonic between her and Castle when she'd first started staying here after her apartment had exploded that she had made an effort to avoid being alone with Castle. She had sought out and encouraged Alexis's company and her confidences because Alexis had been… safe. Kate had genuinely enjoyed all the time she spent with Alexis, really had come to love the girl, but she couldn't deny now that she had been more willing at first to spend time with Alexis because Alexis had served as a distraction and a shield from Castle and the threat to her peace of mind and her heart that she had thought of him as being. (God, she'd been such an idiot.)

And Alexis had been conditioned by her experiences with Castle's previous relationships to believe that a woman who was romantically interested in Castle would not—maybe even could not—actually really care about Alexis herself, separate from her dad.

Kate couldn't decide if it was almost funny, in an ironic and rather sad, sort of way that she, of all people, was the one who needed to have this conversation with Alexis. She was in some ways both the best and the worst person to have to talk to Alexis about this because, after all, Kate was very aware that she still had her own wall of self-protection, even if she was trying to push herself past it, to demolish the wall. She was _going to_ lower her defenses, knock down the wall, she told herself—with Castle's help. (And if the last day was any indication, his help would be very effective. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised; he was the man who had always been able to get under her skin, who had managed to sneak past the defenses she'd set up around her heart.)

But now, this—this was on her.

"Alexis," Kate finally began, gently, "I'm not nice to you for your dad's sake and I don't care about you only because of your dad. I care about you because you're you, because you're smart and you're fun and I like spending time with you."

Alexis's expression softened just a little but doubts remained. The rather trite words, as sincere as they had been, weren't going to do it.

Kate's heart pinched, nerves fluttering in her stomach, because she didn't _do_ this sort of thing, talk about her feelings like this. She didn't—but she had to. In order to be the kind of person she wanted to be, the kind of person who could be good enough for Castle, good enough for his family. She needed to take down her wall, one brick at a time. _Oh god._ Her throat felt tight, as if her heart had lodged inside it, but she persevered. "Do you remember the first time we met, for real?"

"When you arrested Dad for stealing evidence," Alexis answered, the barest glimmer of a smile entering her eyes at the memory.

Kate smiled a little in return. "Yeah. I really didn't like your dad back then. I thought he was this shallow, arrogant flirt."

Alexis's lips twitched. "He does sort of act like one sometimes," she agreed.

"What I'm trying to say, Alexis, is that I always liked you, from that first time we met. I was impressed by how level-headed you were. I remember thinking that it was amazing that a man as annoying and arrogant as your dad could have a kid like you. Even when I didn't like your dad, I still liked you." Kate met Alexis's eyes. "I promise you, Alexis, I don't care about you only because of your dad."

Kate stopped again, swallowed back the knot in her throat. She was Detective Kate Beckett; she didn't flinch from gunshots, she certainly wouldn't flinch from telling the truth to a teenager. Of course, facing down a gun was easier than talking about her feelings. Kate ignored the thought and pushed on. "When I listen to you talk about your life, I can forget for a little while all the darkness and the death that I see every day. That means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me. And whatever happens between me and your dad, I'll always be your friend too."

Alexis managed a wobbly smile, now looking more like herself. "I'm sorry, Kate, for the things I said."

So she was Kate again. Good. That told her more than anything else that Alexis believed her.

"It's all right, Alexis. I understand." She paused and then added, "You know, Mother's Day is on Sunday. Remember how I asked you a couple weeks ago to think about if you wanted to do something for Mother's Day? I meant it. If you want to, why don't you think of something you want to do and you and I can spend the day together, without your dad, okay? And maybe your grandmother can join us. We can have a girls day out."

Alexis's eyes lit up. "That sounds great. Thanks, Kate."

Kate smiled. "It'll be fun for me too. I haven't had anyone to do anything with on Mother's Day for a while, you know," she added quietly and seriously.

She almost regretted it the next moment as Alexis sucked in her breath, suddenly looking stricken—and a small part of Kate's brain noted irrelevantly that Alexis's expression of sharp dismay looked very like her dad's—and then Alexis surged forward and hugged her.

Kate hugged the girl back. It was only the second time that Alexis had hugged her, the first time having been when Alexis had returned from her little camping trip a couple weeks ago. This time, this hug, felt different. As if Alexis was welcoming her into the family. Kate let her eyes close for a moment, warmth blossoming inside her chest.

And she found herself thinking of her mom, of Mother's Day. She hadn't had anyone to celebrate Mother's Day with for years. And Alexis, too, in her own way, didn't have her mother to celebrate Mother's Day with. Kate wasn't Alexis's mother or her stepmother (_not yet, at least_, an errant voice in her mind interjected, and she shoved the thought away. That way lay panic)—and it wasn't, couldn't be, the same. But it would still be… something good.

And after all, Mother's Day didn't really need to be only about mothers by blood; it should also be about family. Family that she had chosen (or that had chosen her, in some sense) but still, family.

Alexis drew back after a moment, her eyes bright. And blurted out, "I'm glad you and my dad are together, Kate. Really. I think you're… good for my dad. You're… different from… the other women. You really know him and you… like him for who he is. It's not about his money or his fame or anything."

Kate managed a small smile. "I do like your dad."

Alexis looked down, tracing the seam of her jeans along her knee for a second, before she looked back up at Kate. "Dad acts like… himself… around you and I like that." She paused and then added, "Don't tell Dad I said so; I don't think he knows I've noticed. He—I've seen the way Dad acts at his book launch parties, since he started to let me go to them, and at his book signings, the way he acts around… those women, the ones who ask him to sign their—" Alexis broke off abruptly, blushing and looking embarrassed.

"I know," Kate said quickly, saving Alexis from having to go further. Kate had a sudden mental image of Castle as she'd first seen him at the _Storm Fall_ launch party last year, the smug flirtation, the suggestive smiles as he signed women's chests. The jackass playboy. Still sexy—damnably so—but not a man Kate would have let within 10 feet of her bed (at least, not without enough alcohol in her to make her stupid for a night) or 10 _miles_ of her heart.

Alexis's mouth twisted a little. "I don't like it when he acts like that; he's not _my dad_ then. He's… someone else and I don't like it."

"It's not who your dad is," Kate agreed quietly. "I understand."

Alexis nodded and gave a somewhat wobbly smile. "Exactly. Dad doesn't act like that around you."

Kate smiled a little. "No, he doesn't." At least he didn't anymore. He was still cocky, still flirtatious at times, but he wasn't the Page Six version of Richard Castle. He was… real.

"He's himself around you." She hesitated and then added, more quietly, seriously, "Just… take care of him, please."

Kate's heart clenched because this wasn't the joking way in which Alexis teased Castle about not being able to take care of himself. This was serious, was about the very real risk attached to Castle working at the precinct, shadowing detectives. Castle, a writer with no formal training, who in the past year had been in a gun fight and saved her life (with champagne, of all things), who had shot a serial killer to save her life, who had been taken hostage by the same man who had killed her mother. She felt a shudder deep inside herself.

Looking at the shadows lurking in Alexis's eyes, at that moment, Kate rather hated herself for needing Castle so much, for not being willing to give him up at work. Hated that the danger of her job was affecting Alexis, tainting her innocence. And she wished, more than anything, at that moment that she could promise Alexis that nothing would ever happen to Castle. But she wouldn't lie to the girl. She only met Alexis's eyes. "I'll do my best. I promise." It was a vow, an oath, that she would hold just as sacred as the oath she had taken when she'd put on her badge—and she knew that she would willingly give up her life if it meant that Castle would be able to come home to Alexis.

Alexis managed a small, rather shaky smile. "Thank you."

Kate forced a smile of her own. "Now, your dad was about to order dinner before I came up so it'll probably be arriving pretty soon, along with your grandmother, so why don't we go downstairs to wait, hmm?"

Alexis's smile brightened. "Yeah, let's."

Alexis stood up and then grasped Kate's hand in hers to pull Kate to her feet and they left Alexis's room together, with Alexis still grasping Kate's hand.

Castle looked up as he heard their footsteps on the stairs, his eyes immediately going to their joined hands, and Kate felt her heart melt at the way his expression softened, suffused with happiness.

"Everything all right?" he asked and it wasn't entirely clear which one of them he was addressing but then it didn't really matter.

Alexis gave him a bright smile, releasing Kate's hand to throw her arms around him. "Everything's fine, Dad. We just came down for dinner."

He wrapped his arms around Alexis, kissing her forehead, before he released her.

Kate lingered, enjoying, as always, the way Castle was around his daughter, even as she felt the return of a little awkwardness. Alexis might know about their relationship now but she didn't quite know where the lines were drawn, didn't quite know how things would work. She knew how to act around Castle and Alexis when she and Castle were only friends—that, she was an expert in. She did not know how to act around Castle and Alexis when she was Castle's known and acknowledged girlfriend.

But before she could think about it for more than a minute, Castle was reaching out, slinging his arm around her shoulders and tugging her in against him and she forgot all about her uncertainty, went willingly into the circle of his arm. She loved the way she fit against him when she wasn't wearing her heels, she realized, how much taller and generally bigger than her he was. It made her feel safe, protected. And it was—should have been—ridiculous since she, after all, was the one who normally carried a gun and had been trained in combat and more than that, she was independent, prided herself on being able to take care of herself really. But somehow, it did something to her to see how much bigger and broader than her he was, to know that if she ever needed it, he was strong enough to protect her. Strong enough to support her, carry her, if she couldn't stand on her own.

She slipped one arm around his waist while her other hand automatically came up to rest on his chest above his heart. Her head rested against his shoulder and she let her nose lightly nuzzle the collar of his shirt that was (rather annoyingly) blocking her access to the niche where his neck met his shoulder.

He brushed his lips against her temple and then her ear, pausing to whisper, "You okay, Kate?"

Her eyes closed almost involuntarily, a tiny shiver rippling through her, at the feel of his breath against her ear, the sound of his quiet, husky voice, and yes, the way he said her name. (God, he really could make her go weak in the knees just from the way he said her name.)

"I know I said I was okay with you guys being together but I might have to change my mind if you're going to be gross like this," Alexis's teasing voice abruptly broke the moment and recalled Kate to Alexis's presence. (God, what was happening to her, to lose all sense of her surroundings because of him? She was a cop; she was trained to be alert and aware of her surroundings.)

Kate stiffened and tried to step out from Castle's arm but he only tightened his hold on her.

"Sorry, pumpkin," he said, his tone sounding quite smug and not sorry in the slightest—and still not allowing Kate to move away—"but you're going to have to get used to seeing me and Kate together."

Kate poked him in the side and he released her with a small yelp. "Behave, Castle. Give poor Alexis some time to get used to the idea of us first."

He pouted at her while Alexis, a little red in the face, smiled at Kate.

"Thank you, Kate," she said with exaggerated gratitude before she flicked a teasing look at her dad. "Don't scar my innocence, please, Dad."

He laughed. "You're cheeky tonight, daughter."

Alexis heaved a rather theatrical sigh. (Definitely Castle's daughter and Martha Rodgers's granddaughter.) "I'm only trying to keep you in line, Dad. It's a full-time job but at least now I have Kate to help me."

Kate grinned while Castle made a face for Alexis's benefit but his eyes met Kate's and she saw the brightness in them and knew what he was thinking. _I told you Alexis would be fine with us and that she still cared about you. _

She was part of this family now. Family—the one word encapsulated all that she'd lost, all that she had never really had again, since the day her mom had died. Even now, when her dad was recovered, it wasn't the same with only the two of them. That sense of family just wasn't there because there was always the sense of loss, the gaping, jagged hole in their lives left by her mom's death.

She suddenly remembered what she'd said to Captain Montgomery right after her apartment had exploded, that she didn't have a home. And Castle's response—_yes, you do. Secure building with an extra bedroom and people who care about you._

Castle had given her a home when she needed one. And now he'd given her family, _his_ family.

She had a family again. And it wasn't the same; there was no way to replace what she'd lost when she'd lost her mom. But it was real and it was _good_.

_~To be continued…~_

* * *

A/N 2: I've been thinking about Alexis's reaction and this conversation with Kate basically since I started writing this fic so I'm curious to know what people think.

As always, thank you all for reading.


	27. Chapter 27

Author's Note: So sorry for the delay in updating but RL got in the way and this chapter nearly gave me fits in the writing of it but it is, finally, finished even if I'm not entirely happy with it.

I included a little nod to Andrew Belle's "In My Veins," because I couldn't resist. Caskett fluff ahead—and Martha gets her say.

* * *

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 27_

The food arrived soon after and they all settled around the table to eat it, since, as Castle pointed out, they couldn't be sure when Martha would arrive so there was no point in letting the food get cold.

And things were… normal, easy, with Alexis once more restored to her usual self, talking lightly about things that had happened in school that day while Kate and Castle listened and made the occasional comment.

Nothing might have changed between her and Castle except that everything had changed in some ways. It was in the glances—warm and sometimes teasing but always with that soft light in them—that he sent her occasionally; it was in the way she and Castle sat a little bit closer to each other so their knees occasionally brushed. It was in the way she sometimes let her free hand drop beneath the table to rest on his knee and, once, wander up his thigh until she felt the muscle tense and he shot a narrow-eyed look at her that promised retribution later. (She bit her lip to hide her smug smile but she did move her hand.)

She and Castle got into a mock battle with their chopsticks over the lo mein and while he was distracted, she reached out with her other hand and stole the half of his egg roll lying unguarded on his plate.

"Hey!" he protested. "That's mine."

She grinned at the face of exaggerated dismay he made. "You snooze, you lose, Castle."

He pouted. "That was sneaky. You distracted me."

She laughed, even as she felt a tug of desire at the sight of him pouting. (Did he mean to draw her attention to his mouth?) "It was the rodeo clown trick and you fell for it."

Alexis made a soft noise like a groan and they both looked over at her to see her looking a combination of amused and a little disgusted. "Really, Kate? I thought you were supposed to help Dad grow up a little, not that you would start being silly too."

Kate flushed but couldn't help her smile. "Sorry, Alexis. Your dad's a bad influence on me."

He caught her eyes, his lips parting and she just knew from the expression on his face, the leering twist of his eyebrows, that he was about to make a comment about the very bad things he could do to her—and she felt arousal pooling low in her stomach at the thought, the memories—but then he abruptly remembered his daughter's presence and closed his mouth with a snap.

"We'll behave, I promise, pumpkin," he said instead, after a moment.

He could behave—but Kate had rather lost all interest in behaving.

On a sudden, wicked impulse, she caught and held his eyes with her own as she picked up the half of his egg roll and closed her lips around it in a decidedly lascivious manner, lingering before she actually bit into it and chewed. _Oh, yes, Castle, I have plans for you tonight… _

His eyes went midnight blue as he stared and she caught the way his hand tensed around his chopsticks.

She bit the inside of her lip to keep from smirking and took a sip of her wine and then made a point of running her tongue along her lips. Slowly.

He choked and then turned it into a cough as Alexis asked (innocently, thank God), "Dad, are you okay?"

"Fine, sweetie. Just… something caught in my throat," he rasped and took a hasty drink of water.

Kate hid her smile. She really should stop being evil. Anyway, if she continued to tease him, she knew he would retaliate and reduce her to squirming in a matter of minutes and then she would forget herself and probably climb right into his lap—and they would traumatize poor Alexis for life. (_Behave, Kate!_)

She looked up at him, not quite apologetically but not quite smugly either, and caught his narrow-eyed look. _You, Detective, are so going to be in for it tonight. _

She flicked her eyebrows at him teasingly and then let her eyes wander deliberately and obviously over the breadth of his shoulders and his chest, letting the way she wanted to and planned to show her appreciation of his chest later show on her face. _Bring it on, Castle. _

Really, teasing him was so much more fun now. And it was almost amazing how good it felt not to have to resist or deny her attraction to him.

Her thoughts and the moment were interrupted as the front door of the loft opened and Martha sailed in, wearing one of her inimitable colorful outfits, today's a multi-colored dress with a floral pattern in bright green and pink. (How Martha managed to pull off wearing such color combinations with her red hair, Kate didn't know but somehow Martha did. At least, to a point. The colors suited her personality.)

"Good evening, darlings," Martha said with all her usual verve, depositing her bag on the couch before joining them.

Alexis leaped up to hug her grandmother. "Hi, Gram!"

Martha returned the hug, smoothing Alexis's hair away from her face. "Hello, my girl."

Kate caught Castle rolling his eyes a little as he often did at Martha's and Alexis's exuberant greetings. Kate only smiled and gave him a mildly scolding look. It was sweet, how close Alexis and Martha were.

Releasing Alexis, Martha turned to Castle and Kate. "Richard," she greeted him.

"Hello, Mother," he greeted her, with the usual mixture of exasperation and affection in his voice but Kate noted that he obediently and automatically lifted his cheek to receive her kiss. And she hid a smile. It was really… cute… the way he generally acted around Martha, his put-upon demeanor disguising the depths of his love for his mother.

"And Katherine darling," she added and Kate was unsurprised when Martha moved around Castle and bent to give Kate a hug. Martha was always so effusive, demonstrative, both in her words and in her gestures.

"It's nice to see you too, Martha," Kate smiled and returned the hug, feeling a surge of affection for the woman. Kate was not generally a touchy-feely person, overly given to gestures of affection, but Martha's warm-hearted exuberance was hard to resist. Martha was not, superficially, much like Kate's own mother in just about any way but she was, like Johanna had been, a _mother_ to her heart, with all the depth and connotations of the word—a mother with all a mother's strength and a mother's protectiveness and a mother's wisdom. And Kate had not had a mother to hug her in a long, long time.

Martha released Kate and moved into the kitchen to get a plate, utensils, and—of course—her own wine glass. "How nice of you to hold dinner for me, Richard," Martha commented dryly as she began to help herself to the food.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Martha," Kate immediately began but Martha shushed her with a wave of her hand and a quick smile.

"Never mind, Katherine. I'm only exercising my mother's prerogative to give my son a hard time."

"See how I react the next time your credit card bill arrives," Castle pretended to threaten. "Mother or not, it's simple common sense not to be mean to the man who pays all your bills."

Alexis reached over to pat Castle's arm in a teasingly condescending manner. "No one deserves it more than you, Dad."

Kate made a tsk-ing noise and shook her head at him in mock reproof. "Really, Castle, don't you know better than to make a comment about a woman's spending? It'll only make her spend even more. Rookie mistake."

Castle gave a beleaguered sigh and addressed the air. "Mean. All the women in my life are so mean to me."

Alexis giggled and Kate scooted her chair closer, leaning across the corner of the table to curl one arm around his neck, moving in closer so he could feel her breath feathering against his ear. She felt the slight shiver of reaction that went through him as she whispered into his ear, keeping her voice quiet enough that she knew only he could hear her, "I promise I'll make it up to you later."

He sucked in his breath sharply and then he was turning his head until their noses were almost brushing, their lips barely an inch apart, their breaths mingling. She felt her eyes fluttering closed at his nearness before she forced them open again, her brain abruptly blanking from being so close to him—as it always had, if she was going to be honest. No wonder she'd avoided touching him as much as she had. (How _had_ she resisted him, resisted this pull of attraction he exerted on her, for so long?) "I'm going to hold you to that," he breathed.

It took her a second to make sense of his words, to remember what she'd said, even as arousal flooded through her at his husky tone. She opened her lips to respond but before she could, she was abruptly recalled back to where they were—and that they had an audience—at the sound of a groan.

And Kate abruptly jerked away from Castle.

"Please stop being gross," Alexis said, her tone an odd mix of pleading and command.

Kate felt herself blushing and refused to look at Castle. "Sorry, Alexis."

The sound of laughter and hands being clapped together drew their attention to Martha, who was smiling delightedly at both Kate and Castle. "Darlings! I always knew you'd be adorable together! Now you must tell me all about how you finally got together."

Castle groaned a little. "Mother, please."

"You see, Richard, I was right to tell you to kiss her."

Castle dropped his head to rest against the table and Kate bit back a laugh at his histrionics, in spite of the heat in her cheeks. "Actually, Martha, he didn't take your advice. I kissed him first."

That got to him and he jerked his head up to stare at her, surprise and something like delight in his eyes. What? She had promised to tell Martha that.

"Really? I am surprised to hear that. I've never known my son to be so slow about kissing a woman he liked."

"Mother!"

Kate laughed. "Oh, I've already asked Castle why he didn't kiss me before now."

Castle groaned. "You know I'm sitting right here."

Kate shot him a teasing look. "Be quiet, Castle, and let me talk to your mom."

Martha laughed and nodded. "Very good, Katherine. Richard talks too much as it is so he needs a woman who can tell him to be quiet. I knew you'd be good for my son."

Kate sobered, biting her lip. "I hope so. I want to be." She felt Castle's quick glance at her change of tone but didn't look at him. She did want to be good for Castle; she already knew he was good for her. But she wasn't so confident that she could be good for him, that she could give him all the love he deserved, that she could make him happy, was so afraid that she would just drag him down with her into her life that so often seemed filled with nothing but darkness and death and danger. But she needed him, needed his smiles and his humor and his silliness to brighten up her life, and she was too selfish to let him go, didn't think she could.

She wasn't open-hearted or fun or trusting or hopeful, not like he was. But she loved him and she wanted to be good for him, wanted to take down her wall so she could let him in, give him all of her love and her trust the way he deserved.

"You don't need to worry about that, Katherine. I know you're good for him."

Kate managed a small smile, her heart warmed by Martha's confidence. Martha, his mother, who knew him so well and wanted only the best for him—Martha believed she would be good for Castle. "How can you be so sure?"

"I know my son and it's been too easy for him to attract women. It's made him arrogant. You're different. You've been a good influence on him. I haven't seen him have to try so hard to impress a woman in years, not since he hit his growth spurt and stopped being so scrawny."

"_Mother_!" Castle's expostulation exploded out of him that time, drowning out Alexis's giggle.

Kate glanced at Castle to see that there were tinges of red in his cheeks. She knew he was mortified but she had a mental image of Castle as a boy, all floppy brown hair and big blue eyes with the same curiosity and childish excitement and imagination. And she reached out, covering his hand with hers, making him look at her, his expression softening. "I'm sure you were adorable back then."

His eyes crinkled at the corners in a rather smug smile.

"Oh, he was," Martha assured her eagerly, blithely ignoring the baleful look Castle directed at her. "Not very popular with girls, admittedly, because he was shorter than about half the girls his age until he was 15, but then he sprouted like a weed and later in high school, filled out a little so he didn't look so gangly and then the girls started to like him."

"Mother," Castle gritted out, "would you _please _stop recounting ancient history and stop… describing me."

Martha fixed him with a look. "Don't be silly, Richard, I'm your mother and if I want to show Katherine every one of your old school pictures, that's my choice, not yours."

He let his head fall forward. "This is a dream," he muttered. "I'm trapped in a terrible nightmare. This isn't happening."

Kate laughed and leaned over to kiss his cheek, pausing to whisper in his ear, "Did you dream that too, Castle?" (She was aware that she was kissing him and touching him more often than she should, especially given Alexis's presence, to say nothing of Martha's, but she couldn't seem to help it. She really was addicted to touching him, being able to touch him. More than a year of suppressed attraction finally set free was proving very difficult—close to impossible—to control. Oh damn, so much for her vaunted self-control.)

That distracted him and he turned to smile at her. "I dreamed about a lot more than that and you know it, Kate." His expression and his tone were quite eloquent as to what kind of dreams he was referring to and Kate felt herself blush.

"Gross, Dad!" Alexis protested.

Castle turned to look at her. "Sorry, pumpkin."

"Really, Richard," Martha said reprovingly, "You should be more appropriate around your daughter."

"You should talk, Mother," he shot back.

Martha ignored him and turned to Kate. "My son can be difficult to deal with. I wish you luck with him."

Kate smiled. "Thank you, Martha."

Martha sobered, her expression softening. "But for all his faults, he's a good man."

Kate's gaze was drawn automatically back to Castle, who was staring at his mother now, his lips slightly parted, his expression wiped clean of anything but poignant surprise. And Kate felt her heart melt as she wondered if he had ever heard Martha say that before. Perhaps not, knowing the way they usually talked to each other.

Kate reached out to grip his hand even as she met Martha's eyes. "I know he is," she said softly.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kate saw Alexis give her a soft, beaming smile at that and she met the girl's eyes for a moment, seeing gratitude and affection and approval in them, and Kate realized that Alexis's last lingering concerns about whether and how much Kate returned Castle's feelings had just been allayed.

Castle's fingers tightened around hers as his gaze swung to look at her and she saw the way his eyes glowed, the same surprise and deep joy that she'd seen earlier in the precinct when she'd said the same thing. And just like earlier, her heart melted as she was reminded that for all his outward cockiness, his confidence, he had his own well-hidden insecurities.

He looked back at his mother and said quietly, "Thank you, mother."

Martha smiled, a touch of humor entering her voice, as she ostensibly addressed Kate. "I did a good job with him."

"Notice how complimenting me turned into praising herself," Castle commented teasingly, somewhat restored to his usual self, also turning to Kate.

Kate bit her lip but a smile escaped anyway, even as she reached over with her free hand to lightly swat his arm. "Be nice, Castle. Your mom has every right to take credit for you."

Martha nodded at Kate. "Thank you, Katherine darling. I knew you'd be good at making Richard behave." She turned to Castle. "As for you, Richard, don't act so surprised. You ought to know by now that one of the benefits of parenthood is being able to take credit for all of one's children's virtues."

Castle turned to look at Alexis, his expression softening into the look suffused with so much love and pride that Kate often saw whenever he spoke to or about Alexis, as he lifted a hand to lightly caress her red hair. "I know nothing of the sort, Mother. Alexis was born as close to perfect as humanly possible and I've just tried not to screw her up too badly."

Oh Castle. It was so like him, somehow, to disclaim credit for Alexis, always said that he lucked out with her. Alexis was a good kid, one worth being proud of, smart and responsible and kind and remarkably unspoiled, considering how rich Castle was. Kate didn't know much about parenting but she could be very sure that, whatever else, Castle did deserve the credit for Alexis being what she was. She'd seen enough of how kids were affected by divorce, encountered enough unhappy families through her work to know that good kids didn't become good kids by accident. And Castle had done it alone. Had handled all the pressures and the challenges of raising a kid alone. He was such a good dad.

"Dad, really," Alexis interposed, looking and sounding a little abashed. "You're being silly."

Castle put on a look of mock offense. "I am not. I lucked out with you. I couldn't have done any better if I'd been able to go to a store and pick you myself."

"Dad!" Alexis said, half-laughingly and half-scoldingly. "You told me when I was five that you did go to a store and pick me out."

"Oh, Richard, really!"

"It was a joke!" Castle defended immediately and then made a face at Alexis. "And you, child of mine, need to stop using my own words against me. It's not fair."

Alexis only laughed and he gave in and smiled at her, touching his fingers to her cheek in a brief caress.

Kate felt a rush of warmth fill her chest, her heart fluttering wildly. Because there was so much tenderness in his eyes and in his touch as he smiled at Alexis—tenderness that she recognized, tenderness that she had felt herself.

She remembered what she'd thought a few weeks ago after Alexis had returned from her camping trip, that the woman lucky enough to be loved by Castle with the same devotion that he felt for his daughter would be able to trust him to be there for her, stand beside her, through everything, no matter what might happen. She suddenly found it a little hard to breathe. _She_ was that woman.

Oh. Oh god. Castle _loved_ her. He did. She was as sure of that as she was of her own name. It was an odd moment to come to that realization since he wasn't even looking at her, was for the moment, she knew, wholly focused on his daughter. But there it was. She had always known how completely Castle loved Alexis and now, she recognized all the tenderness of his caring heart in the way he touched his fingers to Alexis's cheek, saw in it an echo of some of the caresses he had given her.

_He cares about you, Kate… _

_Do you think I can't tell when a man is in love with my only daughter? _

_I think I'm falling in love with you. _

And she thought that maybe, after all, in some unacknowledged corner of her mind, she had already known that he was in love with her. Her dad might have been right after all, that Castle really had been in love with her for weeks now. And she just hadn't seen it, hadn't been ready to see it.

She didn't know it was possible for something to be both uplifting and terrifying at the same time. Uplifting because he loved her and she loved him and he'd promised _always_ and she wanted it, wanted always with him. And terrifying because she had seen too much tragedy, knew all too well how unfair and cruel life could be, and she had been hurt so badly, been left so shattered and devastated in the wake of her mother's death and her father's alcoholism, that she had tried, so hard, never to care so much again, never to rely on anyone else again. Until now. Until him. And she was terrified of losing him.

It was why she'd built her wall in the first place, because she'd been so determined never to be so devastated again. And as much as she might have missed from behind the wall, it had also kept her safe, had protected her from ever being quite so hurt again. Had allowed her to move on after Royce had essentially abandoned their friendship the moment her training period was over, had allowed her to get over Will leaving for Boston.

But now, she couldn't hide anymore. Ships were safe in the harbor but that wasn't what they were built for.

He was already in her life, in her heart, in her veins, and she couldn't get him out.

But oh god, what would she do if anything ever happened to him? Being a cop was dangerous and following a cop had already put Castle in danger more than once.

She felt a wave of panic rising up inside her at the thought, all too aware of just how terribly vulnerable she was now, how horrifyingly fragile her heart, her happiness, were now that she loved him. Now that her happiness was so dependent on him, on his life. She didn't like acknowledging vulnerability, hated feeling vulnerable.

As if he sensed her inner turmoil—and knowing him, she thought he actually might have since he seemed to read her better than just about anyone else with the exception of her dad—he turned to look at her and she knew he saw at least some of what she was feeling in her expression because his eyes clouded over with swift concern, a faint frown appearing between his brows. _You okay, Kate?_

She remembered what he'd said after she'd told him about her nightmare, the understanding and the compassion in his voice as he'd said, _that's the price we pay for living and loving. _

She met his eyes—his beautiful eyes—and somehow, felt the mess of her emotions begin to settle.

The price we pay for living and loving—and looking at him, feeling the warm clasp of his fingers around hers, she knew it was worth it. _He_ was worth it. Worth it for the way he made her smile and laugh. Worth it for the way he made her feel safe. Worth it for the way he looked at her as if she was amazing.

She managed to smile at him softly, reassuringly. And saw the way his frown vanished, his eyes clearing, becoming the bright ocean blue she loved, the spark of vitality and laughter that she associated with him appearing again, so much joy glinting in the blue.

Oh. Her heart stuttered a little in her chest, her breath catching in her throat. He looked so very happy now. Because of her.

She already knew that he made her happy, happier than she had been in years. But now, looking at him, she realized, amazingly, that she had made him happy too.

And she could only hope desperately that she could continue making him happy. After this first rush of euphoria at getting together faded, as she knew it would, when they were faced with all the mundane realities, the little annoyances, of a relationship in the common light of common day.

Kate started a little, abruptly pulled from her thoughts when she heard a loud cough and Martha's voice saying, rather dryly, "You know, Alexis, I think your father is wishing both of us were far away right now."

Kate felt herself flush. God, she kept on forgetting that she and Castle weren't alone. Bother, what the man could do to her.

Castle didn't physically startle but for a second, his eyes widened and she was somewhat comforted—or something—at the realization that he was just as affected by her as she was by him. And he turned his head to address his mother, even as his grasp on her hand tightened just a little, his thumb beginning to move back and forth across the back of her hand. "Not true, Mother. Alexis knows perfectly well that I want her to stay with me forever so we can be the father-daughter version of _Grey Gardens_."

Alexis and Kate both laughed while Martha directed a narrow-eyed look at him. "I notice you don't include me in that sentiment."

Castle gave her a look of feigned confusion. "Why bother mentioning you when we all know you already plan to stay forever? I just assumed I was stuck with you."

Martha turned to Kate. "You know, Katherine, I take it back. I'm sure you could do better than being with him."

Kate bit the inside of her lip to keep her smile from escaping, glancing at Castle who was scowling at his mother with mock annoyance. "I suppose so," she drew the words out with exaggerated thoughtfulness. "But I've kind of gotten used to him pulling my pigtails."

That got his attention and he turned to look at her, their gazes tangling for a brief moment of shared memory and emotion, before Kate forcibly pulled her eyes away from him to look at Martha again. "Besides," she added lightly, "he's been trained to bring me coffee whenever I feel like it."

Martha laughed. "Coffee? In my day, a man showed a woman he liked her by giving her flowers and then jewelry."

"In your day, Mother?" Castle riposted. "And when was this, 1920?"

Kate swatted his arm. "Castle, be nice," she scolded him, the words overlapping neatly with Alexis's reproachful "Dad!"

Martha laughed and nodded at both Kate and Alexis. "Thank you, my dears. Take note, Richard, you have to behave now with both Katherine and Alexis around to keep you on the straight and narrow."

He grimaced. "Fine, fine, I'm sorry, Mother." He looked from his daughter to Kate. "Happy now?"

Kate laughed and leaned in, giving in to the gravitational pull of attraction he exerted on her, to brush her lips against his cheek—except he turned his head, deliberately or accidentally, she didn't know—so her lips met his instead. Her eyes fluttered closed automatically, her mind going blissfully blank.

A clatter and the sound of a chair being noisily pushed back broke through the pleasurable fog of her brain and the kiss broke off abruptly as she and Castle both jerked. To see that Martha had stood up from the table, picking up her cleared plate as she did so. "Alexis, darling, I think it's time we leave your father and Katherine to themselves since, clearly, they find each other's company entirely too enthralling to pay attention to anything else."

Kate felt herself blushing. "Oh, no, Martha, you don't have to leave," she began and felt Castle give her a swift, meaningful nudge with his knee.

Martha only waved her free hand. "It's fine, Katherine. I remember very well how it feels to be in the throes of young love."

Kate glanced irresistibly at Castle at this to see him looking horrified, the expression on his face echoed by Alexis as she protested, "Ew, Gram, stop!"

Martha only laughed as she put her plate away in the dishwasher. She returned to stand by the table. "I only wanted to see how you two are behaving now that you're together and I can see that I've got nothing to worry about, except that you might scar poor Alexis for life."

Kate flushed, glancing at Alexis. "Sorry, Alexis. We'll do better, I promise."

Alexis smiled, although she was blushing as red as her hair. "Dad did say that I needed to get used to seeing you two together and I will."

"Well, then, I'll be off. Good night, darlings. Richard, do try to behave while Alexis is around."

Martha blew theatrical kisses at both Kate and Castle and gave Alexis a last hug and then she was sailing out the door.

In her turn, Alexis cleared away her own plate. "I'm going to go upstairs, leave you two alone."

"Sweetheart, you know you don't have to," Castle said, his words overlapping with Kate's, "Alexis, that's not necessary."

Alexis smiled and shook her head. "It's okay, Dad, Kate. I have homework to do, anyway, and a math quiz to study for."

"Okay, pumpkin, if you're sure."

Alexis bent and hugged Castle as he wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss on her hair. "I am happy for you guys," she murmured and then opened her eyes to meet Kate's gaze. "Really."

Alexis drew back and smiled at Kate and then she turned and disappeared upstairs.

Castle turned to look at Kate, a half-sheepish expression on his face. "I think we scared my mother and Alexis away."

Kate flushed and bit her lip in some embarrassment. "Yeah, I think we did." She had never in her life thought that she would ever be part of one of those sickening new couples, who couldn't keep their hands off each other. She'd managed to keep her hands to herself in the precinct but now, in the loft, she really couldn't seem to stay away from him. She assumed that she would regain her self-control around him sometime but today, she couldn't help herself. Being able to touch him at all, not having to fight her attraction to him—and more than that, the knowledge that he loved her and she loved him—was overpowering in the best way.

His expression shifted as he gave her a deliberate leer, reaching out to pull her towards him until she perforce had to sit on his lap, one arm looping naturally around his neck. "Alone at last," he grinned before he tightened his arm around her, one hand coming up to cup the back of her neck so he could urge her lips to his. Not that she really needed the urging.

Her hand came up automatically to palm his cheek as she kissed him, her lips willingly parting for the oh-so-seductive sweep of his tongue, her mind going deliciously fuzzy as she let herself slide into the pleasure of his kiss.

No, she really, really could not resist this, could not resist him.

_~To be continued…~_


	28. Chapter 28

Author's Note: Fair warning that this is a really (really) long chapter so if you need to take the entire weekend to read it all, that's fine. My only defense is that Castle and Beckett started talking and they really did have a lot to talk about. This chapter is also quite fluffy so hopefully that will make it a fun read, even if it is very long.

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 28_

Kate surfaced from the drugging effects of Castle's kiss more slowly than she cared to admit. The only saving grace for her pride was that, judging from the way his eyes had gone hazy and he had to blink a few times, he was no better off than she was.

She rested her forehead against his as she waited to get her breath back and her thoughts once more organized.

"Mm, wow," he mumbled rather breathlessly.

"Wow," she agreed, her mind still too fuzzy to do much more than echo the word.

It was a rather lame word, considering that she still felt a little woolly-headed and had no clear sense of how much time had passed since they had started kissing. It could have been five minutes or five hours or five days, for all she really knew or for all she'd cared once they'd started kissing. God. She'd never in her life so completely lost track of time or her surroundings the way she'd found herself doing so often with Castle this evening and she wasn't sure she liked it. No, scratch that, she didn't really like it; she didn't tend to deal well with being out of control, didn't like how easily and how completely she was swept up by Castle, lost in Castle. But then he kissed her and touched her—or just looked at her sometimes—and she couldn't seem to help herself, couldn't resist him or the magnetic pull he appeared to have on her.

It was, now she thought about it, probably this very sense that Castle would make her lose control, the strength of the attraction he had always had for her, even against her will (at least when they'd first met) that had made her fight this thing between them since the day she'd dragged him out of his book launch party.

With anyone else, in any other situation that threatened the loss of control, she knew herself well enough to know that she would have run long before now, run so fast that she would have been a speck on the horizon before the other person could so much as say her full name. So she had resisted Castle, had tried to keep her distance from him (only to find that he was, irritatingly, persistent and quite impervious to the prickly demeanor that had generally worked in the past at keeping people at a distance).

And then her apartment had exploded and she'd been forced, by necessity, to stay in the loft—and what little chance she had of resisting Castle for much longer had eroded, with his constant presence, the warm family atmosphere of the loft, the way he behaved when he was at home, steadily chipping away at her defenses.

Even now, she wasn't entirely comfortable with this feeling of not being in control. The difference—and this was the most important thing, the reason she wasn't running—was that she _trusted_ Castle. Trusted him more than anyone else in her life.

She trusted him and with him, here in the privacy and safety of his home, she could forget about her surroundings, let down her guard, and, yes, give up control. And she thought, with some time, she would become more comfortable with the feeling of not being in control, more comfortable with the sheer depth and magnitude of what she felt for him, although she didn't think she would ever be entirely comfortable with being so vulnerable.

"Dollar for your thoughts? You're suddenly looking very serious."

She raised her eyebrows a little. "A dollar? How extravagant," she teased.

"You're evading, Beckett." He adopted a wheedling expression and tone. "C'mon. Tell me what you were thinking about."

She hesitated but knew, even as she did so, that she was going to tell him. Not because his look and tone worked on her (they sort of did—drat him) but because this was exactly the sort of thing she'd promised herself—and him—she would improve at. "I was thinking that I don't know how good I'm going to be at this."

One of his eyebrows quirked upwards, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I don't know how you can say that because I think you're _very_ good at this."

She huffed a soft laugh. "I'm not talking about kissing. I was talking about this… being in a real relationship thing."

His eyes softened, his expression sobering. "Because of your wall?"

"It's just… this evening, with you and Martha and Alexis, this… isn't like me. I don't… act like this; I don't forget that other people are around. This… with you… I've never been like this with anyone else. I don't… let people in and I'm not… good at relationships." And she was so afraid that she would screw things up with her defenses, that he would realize that he could be with anyone, be with someone who wasn't damaged, who was open-hearted and fun and whose life didn't revolve around death.

Damn it. She hated feeling so vulnerable, hated that the very strength of her feelings for him seemed to make her insecurities and fears commensurately stronger too. This was what she'd been hiding from. She'd never felt this way around Will—that was a large part of what had made him so safe, what she'd liked about him. Will was a good, decent man and she'd cared about him, even loved him in a way, but she'd never been _in love_ with him, never would have been in love with him, and even if she'd never consciously thought it, she had known that, hadn't she? It was what had made Will so safe; he would never have been able to break her heart.

Castle could. He could break her heart. Could absolutely destroy her.

She trusted him, trusted that he would never intentionally hurt her, but her dislike of being vulnerable was ingrained in her by now, and it was going to take a lot of time before she could train herself out of it, if she ever really could.

He ran a hand lightly up and down her back in a soothing gesture and she gave in to the urge to curve her spine into the caress. It occurred to her for the first time in her life that she entirely understood why cats purred.

"It's okay, Kate, and it's not just you. Do you think I'm not just as scared about us? I haven't exactly had a good track record with relationships. I'm the one with two divorces behind me, remember? Sometimes, I—well, I've wondered if maybe I'm just one of those people not cut out for a lasting relationship."

Oh, Castle. She was a little amazed at the way he had not only acknowledged her insecurities but then reflected them back to admit his own. Amazed and a little humbled because she knew him well enough to know that he didn't like speaking about his insecurities any more than she did—but he had now, for her sake. He was opening up to her—just as she needed to open up to him.

He went on thoughtfully. "We both have baggage and it's not going to be easy or perfect. Relationships are always hard; they always take a lot of work. I, of all people, know that. But I also think we can do this. I think we'll keep on being amazing together."

In spite of herself, she couldn't quite smother her smile at his hyperbolic words. (Or not so hyperbolic, an errant voice in her head spoke up. Amazing was a rather accurate description of their first night together. _Shut up, not helping_.) "Amazing, huh? How can you be so sure?"

He met her eyes, his expression suddenly entirely sober. "Because I know I'm willing to do anything I can to try and make this relationship work and because you're the most determined, dedicated person I've ever met. Do you remember what I told you once, about why you're extraordinary?"

"I remember," she murmured, her cheeks flushing at the thought of his words. Oh, she remembered, didn't think she'd ever forget. Her heart still fluttered a little at the memory. No one, with the exception of her parents, had ever said anything like that to her, and the sincerity, the admiration, in his eyes and his voice had made it mean all the more. _You pushed for it, not because it's your job, but because you care. Most people come up against a wall, they give up. Not you. You don't let go. You don't back down. That's what makes you extraordinary. _

"You're willing to try too, Kate, you said so and I know you. I don't expect it's always going to be easy but I know you and I believe in you. I believe in _us_."

"You also believe in magic, aliens, and Bigfoot," she pointed out, hoping her voice didn't betray how she felt like her heart, to say nothing of her knees, had melted at his words. "You're like the White Queen in _Alice in Wonderland_."

He laughed. "Because you think I make a practice of believing in impossible things?"

She smiled. "'One can't believe impossible things,'" she quoted.

"'I daresay you haven't had much practice,'" he quoted right back at her immediately, his eyes lighting up in that way he had when he was telling a story or, as he was now, catching and responding to a literary reference. Such a writer. "'Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.'"* He paused and then went on in a more normal tone, "Besides, impossibility is in the eye of the beholder, Beckett. Two hundred years ago, people would have sworn it was impossible to have horseless carriages or for mankind to fly. And I seem to remember a certain detective swearing that she and a certain ruggedly handsome writer would never get together and yet, here we are."

She blinked and frowned slightly. "When did I say that?"

"Last year, during the home invasion case," he answered promptly. "The woman in charge of the MADT fundraiser asked if we were together. I said, not yet, and you said, with very unflattering emphasis, no, never."

She made a small face at him. She didn't doubt the story—it sounded like her and at the time, she'd have meant it—but while she remembered the woman, she didn't remember the words. "Castle, that was a 30-second irrelevant exchange in the middle of a case that happened a year ago. Do you have instant recall of every word you've ever heard me say?"

He looked smug. "Probably. I have a very good memory when it comes to things I'm interested in."

"'In such cases as these, a good memory is unpardonable,'" she told him.

"Jane Austen," he identified immediately, and added with a small smirk, "And I didn't even have to show you my country estate in the Hamptons to make you change your mind about me, although I will."**

She couldn't help her smile. As much as he loved it that she read, she loved it too, loved the way he could meet and match her in banter and, yes, in literary allusions. She loved that his mind could challenge hers.

He raised his eyebrows at her, looking annoyingly self-satisfied. "To quote some immortal lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein, 'Impossible things are happening every day.'*** Case in point, you being here with me now when you said it would never happen."

She grimaced, narrowing her eyes at him. "You are going to tease me about my saying that for the rest of our lives, aren't you?"

He only grinned delightedly, his eyes lighting up as if someone had just awarded him a Pulitzer.

What? She mentally replayed her words and then inwardly groaned. Drat him. Teasing or baiting her to get an unwitting admission was not fair. That was one of her tricks. He wasn't allowed to use one of her tricks against her. (And now she was being ridiculous.)

He laughed aloud, as if his delight had overflowed into irrepressible laughter.

She blushed and tried to glare at him, although judging from his expression, her "glare" was ending up somewhere around indulgent affection. "It's a commonly-used phrase. It just slipped out." She paused. "Shut up."

It _was_ a commonly-used phrase and she _hadn't_ thought anything of it but she had meant it, did mean it, she realized. She did hope—believe—that they would be together for—oh god—the rest of their lives. She suddenly thought of something else she had said to Castle more than a year ago—that she was a one-and-done type. Castle was her one and this relationship with Castle was _it_, her best chance at the sort of relationship she wanted, the sort of relationship her parents had had. And if she didn't manage to make this relationship work, that would be it for her. _One and done. _The phrase suddenly struck her as terrifying in its very finality. She couldn't mess this up.

But he believed in her, believed in _them_. And she believed in him.

His eyes danced. "It's an admission against interest and entirely admissible for its truth. You believe we'll be great together too."

Annoying, smug, adorable man. "I don't know why I put up with you," she huffed with mock exasperation.

"I bring you coffee," he answered immediately. "And I make things more fun."

Kate gave in to her smile because she just couldn't help it anymore and leaned in to brush her lips against his. "Yeah, Castle, you make things better," she said softly. And he really did. He had teased her right out of her sudden, terrifying consciousness of her own vulnerability, the return of her lingering fears. He'd distracted her and made her smile—made her happy so that at that moment, she could barely remember why she'd ever been afraid in the first place. This was Castle and he could, somehow, always, make her smile in a way no one else ever had.

She let her head rest against his for a long, quiet moment as he settled his arm a little more snugly around her.

"I'm not too heavy, am I?" she murmured, breaking the silence.

He scoffed. "There's no need to insult me."

She huffed a soft laugh—silly man—but then she stirred, kissing his forehead, before she pushed herself to her feet. "We should finish cleaning up dinner," she said mildly.

He made a face of exaggerated reluctance but stood up as well as they cleared off the table and put away the leftovers.

That done, she settled on the couch, bringing her still half-full glass of wine with her, and he followed with his own glass. He put his glass down on the coffee table before dropping down next to her and tugging her snugly into the circle of his arm so she ended up leaning against him.

She suppressed a smile as she relaxed against him, amazed at how easy, how natural, it felt—and how comfortable the position was. She wasn't at all surprised to discover that Castle was so fond of snuggling; he was a tactile person, touched things, as she'd told Agent Shaw. And he had apparently decided that touching her was his new favorite pastime. (But then again, she thought touching him had become her new favorite pastime too.)

The surprising thing was just how much she liked it. Will had not been much of a snuggler, had not been given to affectionate touches or caresses that weren't sexual. She had always thought she liked him for it; it had meant she didn't need to worry about trying to reciprocate. And she had never been the clingy type or the type to seek out the comfort or pleasure of another person's touch.

She would have thought that being so closely wrapped in someone's arm would make her feel restricted, confined, in a way that would grate. But somehow, at least with Castle at that moment, it didn't. Maybe it was as simple as this—being able to touch him, being touched by him—all being so new still and they were both finally giving in to the suppressed attraction of more than a year. Maybe it was because she knew perfectly well that if she stirred or made any indication of discomfort, he would release her immediately. He would give her space if she wanted it. But for now at least, she didn't want space from him. She would need some space eventually, she expected, but for now, she could just enjoy this togetherness.

Besides, he was big and broad and comfortable, his shoulder made a very nice headrest, and he was wonderfully warm and smelled great too so she really wasn't inclined to cut off her nose to spite her face and not let him hold her like this just for the sake of her own pride.

She couldn't quite admit it out loud but at that moment, she couldn't think of anywhere else she would rather be.

She lifted her head to brush a kiss to the underside of his chin, all she could reach without having to move more than she wanted to, and then settled in to nestle her head against his shoulder.

"Kate?"

"Hmm?"

"What did you and Alexis talk about?"

Kate shifted, turning to face him, although she stayed tucked inside the circle of his arm. This wasn't a conversation to have not being able to see his face. "She wanted to make sure I really cared about you."

His expression softened even as his chest puffed up with pride as it so often did when he spoke about Alexis. "My little girl looking out for her old man."

She gave him a soft smile. "She worries about you." Not just about something hurting Castle physically but Alexis worried about Castle's happiness too. That had been clear enough. And it occurred to Kate that anyone who hurt Castle would have Alexis to answer to—and Kate wouldn't discount the ferocity of Alexis's response.

"I know she does," he murmured. He was silent for a moment, his eyes distant as he thought about his daughter, but then he blinked and met her eyes. "But Alexis knows she has no reason to worry where you're concerned."

Oh, Castle. He believed in her so much, it was a little frightening and a lot humbling because she couldn't imagine how she deserved it and she was so afraid that she would end up letting him down, disappointing him and hurting him.

"Alexis will worry about you anyway because she loves you."

"She's my little girl," he said quietly.

"Not so little anymore."

He made a face. "Don't be mean, Beckett. I'm trying not to think about that."

She gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry."

He nodded with mock gravity.

Kate hesitated, not quite sure how to mention the rest of their conversation, but finally just admitted, "Alexis wanted to know if I really cared about her for her own sake and not just because of you."

He blinked and then frowned a little. "What—why would she—you _do_. She should know that by now."

"Castle, it's okay. It's entirely understandable that Alexis might doubt it, given everything she's seen as the child of a single father."

Now he looked dismayed, his eyes clouding over. "I tried so hard to protect Alexis from all that. It's always just been her and me, pretty much, and I've tried to be everything she needed and she's never said anything to me about—"

She quieted him by touching her finger to his lips, suddenly wishing she'd never said anything to him but Alexis was his daughter and while Kate was not—could not be—Alexis's mother, she wanted to be family. And if she was really going to be a part of the family, she and Castle would need to be able to have these sorts of conversations about Alexis and anything that affected her. "No, Castle, it's not your fault. You're a good dad, Castle, and you've done great raising Alexis, you _know_ that."

He sighed. "I suppose. I just… I know Alexis gets upset over the way Meredith has never stuck around for her but I've tried to make Alexis understand that it's just the way Meredith is, has nothing to do with _her_. And I thought I'd succeeded so it wouldn't affect Alexis's relationship with anyone else, let alone you. I guess I just… haven't."

"Castle, don't blame yourself for this. I know Alexis doesn't. She told me that you've always been everything she needed."

His eyes cleared a little, even though a frown lingered between his brows.

"I told Alexis that I would never try to come between you two," Kate told him quietly.

"Of course you wouldn't and Alexis already knew that."

She couldn't help but smile slightly at his unquestioning confidence. "Alexis knowing no one would _succeed_ at coming between you two is different from knowing that I wouldn't try so I wanted to reassure her."

Castle lifted one shoulder in a gesture of acknowledgement.

Kate hesitated and then ventured, "Castle, can I ask, what was Gina's relationship with Alexis like?" She had heard Alexis's side and while she didn't doubt Alexis's story, Kate also knew that there were always at least two sides to every story and she wondered, too, what Castle would have noticed about Gina's relationship with Alexis. Knowing how Castle protected Alexis, she couldn't imagine that Castle wouldn't have been watchful, even vigilant, when it came to Gina and Alexis. (And in a rather more unworthy motive, she couldn't deny the niggle of curiosity about what Castle might reveal about his own relationship with Gina, about why their marriage had failed.)

His expression became oddly blank for a moment and then he blinked, a faint frown forming between his eyes as he sighed. "Gina… she's a nice person," he began slowly. "But she's not… uh, the most kid-friendly person either. She tried to be good to Alexis but I don't think… Gina and Alexis never really bonded. Although," he made a small face, "that was probably at least half my own fault. I… didn't really give Gina… space… to get close to Alexis. Gina said I built a wall around Alexis—we fought about it."

She frowned a little. That seemed… odd. "Hmm."

"What?"

She hesitated but then blurted out, "You didn't do that with me." He hadn't; Castle had never shown the slightest inclination to keep her from becoming close to Alexis. And Kate could hardly claim to be a very kid-friendly person herself; she knew next to nothing about kids and didn't feel comfortable around them. It was lucky for her that Alexis wasn't that much of a kid anymore.

He gave her a look that suggested she had just said something insane. "You're different," he said simply.

Oh, Castle. Not for the first time, Kate almost lost her breath at how much Castle trusted her, how much he believed in her. And it suddenly occurred to her that Castle had trusted her where Alexis was concerned for a long time, since long before she'd been staying at the loft. She remembered the time months ago when Alexis had called her to ask about studying abroad. Even then, Castle's concern had only been about the nature of Alexis's secret. Had he always trusted her so much? She hadn't thought about it at the time but then she hadn't really known just how protective of Alexis Castle could be, had rarely considered what Castle was like as a father until she'd moved into the loft. Now, she knew—and she was amazed. He'd shielded Alexis from Gina and he'd _married_ her, must have thought he loved her. And yet, he hadn't really trusted Gina with Alexis. Not like he had always trusted Kate.

As if he'd read her thoughts, he repeated his earlier words, "I trust you." He paused and then went on, making a rather rueful face, "Although in fairness, I should say that part of my problem, maybe even the biggest part of it, was that at the time when I married Gina, I really didn't know how to share Alexis yet. It had just been Alexis and me for her entire life until that point and since she was still so young, I was with her pretty much all the time. I've gotten better since then because Alexis is older now; she's almost grown up and is a lot more independent now." He grimaced at the words as if the thought of how grown-up Alexis was pained him, which it likely did. "And of course, once my mother moved in, I had to get used to not having Alexis all to myself."

Yes, that was true too. Kate found herself wondering for a moment how it would have been different if she had met Castle years ago—would Castle have so easily trusted her with Alexis?

His lips twisted into a rueful expression. "I could have—should have—done better but I… sort of encouraged Alexis to keep on coming to me for just about everything or, I suppose, I _didn't_ encourage Alexis to go to Gina for, well, anything. Gina did try, especially at first, but then she… gave up…" He grimaced. "And really, by the six months or so before Gina and I separated… we were basically fighting over everything so I don't think Gina was really in the mood to be nice to anyone related to me so she didn't pay much attention to Alexis at all."

Kate tried not to wince, fought to keep her expression as neutral as she could, even as her heart pinched. The break-up of his second marriage bothered Castle more than he'd ever let on; she could see it in the way his eyes had clouded over, in the tense lines bracketing his mouth, hear it in his voice. She couldn't quite tell how much of it was due to a dislike of failure or to personal hurt but his upset was clear.

And as for Alexis, it was no wonder Alexis would believe that a woman would only be nice to Alexis as long as the woman was involved with Castle. Of course Alexis would have noticed that Gina had only made an effort to be nice to her as long as Castle and Gina got along. Gina might not have meant it like that but the effect was the same—and just as hurtful to Alexis. It was hard to think charitably of Gina for that but Kate wondered, in an attempt to be fair-minded, how much of it might have been that Gina had not been given much of a chance to forge a relationship with Alexis as her own person.

She met Castle's eyes, lifting a hand to touch his cheek lightly to underscore her words. "Castle. Rick," she corrected herself, not quite smoothly—the first time she'd called him by his name for any reason other than irritation or deliberate provocation. She saw the surprise and something softer flare in his eyes at her use of his first name and it occurred to her that he liked the sound of his first name on her lips maybe even as much as she liked it when he called her by hers. "I don't know much about kids," she said slowly, a little hesitantly, "but I promise that I won't, ever, take it out on Alexis when you and I fight. I'll be there for Alexis no matter what happens between us."

It was a vow and one she hadn't quite consciously realized she was going to make until she found herself speaking. It occurred to her, with a little shock, just how… committed she was to all of this, to her relationship with Castle, to this _family_ she had become a part of. It didn't matter that she and Castle had only been together for… oh god, it had only been one day. How was that even possible? As new—and addicting—as all this physical closeness with Castle was, in a weird way it also felt as if she and Castle had been together for… weeks, months even. As if even while her head had been denying that there was anything at all beyond friendship between her and Castle, her heart had been going forward by leaps and bounds and in her heart at least, she and Castle had been together for much longer than only one day.

He let out a shaky breath. "Kate, I… thank you," he murmured after a moment, the stark simplicity of the words surprising her a little when compared to the depth of the emotion swirling in his eyes, stamped across his face. And she realized with a flicker of amazement and humility that she had, somehow, robbed the writer of his words.

Oh, Castle. As much as she loved his words, she loved this too, loved his utter sincerity in the rare times when he lost that skill with words that was so much a part of him.

She felt her heart flutter at the look in his eyes, one of those faint, tender smiles that barely curved his lips and mostly just existed in the warmth in his eyes, the smile she thought of as being one of his Alexis smiles because she generally saw it when he was looking at his daughter or talking about her. Now, though, the smile was for her. She suddenly found it hard to breathe as she drifted closer to him, inexorably drawn to him, and then she was kissing him before she'd consciously realized she was going to do so. Kissing him gently, tenderly. His hand came up to cup her jaw, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone, as he kissed her back, his mouth soft and pliant and giving against hers. The kiss felt almost… innocent, more like a first kiss than should have been possible given everything.

When the kiss ended, she didn't go far, barely moved at all, really, only rested her forehead against his, their noses brushing, their breaths mingling.

Mmm. Ridiculously and rather inappropriately, she felt a little bubble of amusement inside her, escaping in a small, silly smile that she attempted to hide against his cheek. He was a really good kisser. Unbidden, a memory from what felt like a lifetime ago returned to her, of whispering and giggling with Maddy after first telling Maddy that kissing boys could involve some tongue.

She composed her features before she drew back to meet his eyes. "Castle?"

"Hmm?"

"I wanted to warn you that you're going to be deserted on Sunday because Alexis and I and maybe Martha if she wants to join us, are going to be spending Mother's Day together and you are not invited."

His eyes brightened, lighting up with happiness, even as he pretended to pout. "That's not very nice, Beckett. Why won't you let me come? I promise to be on my best behavior."

"No. We're going to have a girl's day out so you're not qualified," she told him with mock sternness, controlling her expression with some effort.

He put on his best pitiful puppy expression. "Please?"

She bit her lip, hard, to keep herself from smiling. Ridiculous, adorable man. "No, Castle."

He heaved an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. "Oh fine. I'll just have to figure out a way to amuse myself. Maybe I'll have the boys come over and we can have a Madden day and play some poker."

"Or you could just write," she pointed out. "Don't you have a deadline coming up?"

He made a face at her. "The deadline's not for a couple weeks and I'm almost done, I swear!"

"Says the master procrastinator, who always waits until the last minute and then finishes a book in a mad rush when the deadline hits?" she teased.

"Okay, I've changed my mind. You and Alexis and my mother clearly cannot be allowed to spend time together since my mother and daughter have decided to spill all my secrets."

She laughed at him. "You think it was a secret that you procrastinate when you should be writing?"

"I write almost every day!"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "And does all the writing you do end up in a book?"

He opened his mouth and then closed it again and she allowed herself a smirk. She'd got him there. It was something Alexis had mentioned and that she had noticed herself, that Castle "wrote it out." He wrote about things that bothered him, wrote his own versions of the way he thought actual events or conversations should have gone, wrote random scenes or snippets of dialogue as they came to him whether or not they had any place in the book, or more straightforwardly, when he was annoyed or frustrated, he wrote a scene of Nikki (or Derrick Storm) beating up some thugs, not related to the plot of a book but just serving as therapy of a sort. He was such a writer. And it had been a little fascinating, she had to admit, to learn this sort of thing about her favorite author and his writing habits. (Oh god. Kate knew a fleeting second of amazement. Her life had gotten so surreal. She was _dating_ her favorite author.)

"Clearly I need to have a talk with my mother and daughter about how much they tell you about me," he grumbled with mock disgruntlement.

She grinned. "You're forgetting that I'm a detective. What makes you think I wouldn't find out anyway?"

He pulled a face. "That's a frightening thought." He stopped, his expression undergoing one of those lightning-fast changes of expression that she had gotten accustomed to where he was concerned, the ones she usually saw when he had a sudden idea about a case or a story, except this wasn't quite like that. He looked entirely sober now, almost… worried. "That reminds me. There's… something we need to talk about."

Kate frowned a little. "What is it, Castle?"

"We need to talk about… telling people about our relationship," he said carefully.

She blinked, a smile beginning to tug on her lips. "Didn't we already have this talk this morning?" Anyway, pretty much everyone who needed to know already knew. She had made plans to have lunch with her dad on Saturday and would tell him then. She had told Lanie at lunch today—or not told Lanie so much as showed up at the morgue with sandwiches for both of them and then been _informed_ by Lanie, "you had sex with Castle." It had not been a question and Kate had been left to blush and mutter confirmation of Lanie's statement. And had then spent the rest of lunch blushing hotly since Lanie had insisted that she needed details on Castle's, um, performance.

She paused. "Wait, do you mean telling people because of that bet going around the precinct about us?"

He blinked. "You know about that?"

She huffed. "I'm a detective. It was a bet about _my_ personal life going on at _my_ work place. Did you really think I wouldn't know about it?" She stopped and narrowed her eyes at him. "You didn't make a bet on the pool, did you?" If he had…

"No!" he denied immediately with convincing force, his eyes widening. He grimaced. "I know I can be a jackass sometimes but I don't kiss and tell, Beckett."

She softened, giving him a small smile. "Okay, good. Then what did you mean by telling people?"

He didn't smile, only let out a breath. "I meant that we need to talk about the press."

The press. Oh. Oh god. Kate froze and then she reared back, recoiling almost instinctively at the very thought of the press.

Castle winced a little, sitting up straight, and hurried on, "I'm sorry but I can't prevent it from happening. If we're in a relationship, the press is going to find out eventually."

Oh shit. She suddenly felt like an idiot because this part of being in a relationship with Castle had completely slipped her mind, somehow. She'd forgotten, or something, that he was a (relatively) famous person; he was just… Castle. And since she'd gotten to know the real man so well, seeing the way he was in the loft, it was even harder to think of him as a staple of the gossip columns.

But he was. She suddenly remembered all the mentions of him in Page Six she'd seen over the years, remembered the camera flashes at the _Heat Wave_ launch party, remembered the attention she'd received just for accompanying him to the MADT fundraiser a year ago.

She surged to her feet, suddenly needing to move, too filled with nervous energy stemming from her inner turmoil to sit still anymore.

She had had to work so hard in her first couple years on the force to be taken seriously as a cop, had had to fight for every bit of respect and reputation she had because as a young female cop, to say nothing of her looks, respect had not been easily granted. She'd raged (to herself) when she'd been placed in Vice where all female cops ended up early on so they could be sent undercover as prostitutes, and then she had worked like a demon in order to get out of Vice as fast as she possibly could. Staying in Vice for a long stretch of time was a death knell to the career of any female cop who wanted to be taken seriously because everyone assumed that they were only there as convenient eye-candy while the male cops did all the real police work. (She suspected that Captain Montgomery had pulled some strings to get her transferred out of Vice after only six months but she'd never asked.) Even Esposito had not been inclined to take her seriously when they had first been paired up and she'd needed to prove she was every bit the cop that he was before he'd accepted her.

Being shadowed by some celebrity author had not exactly enhanced her professional reputation but then when it had come out that the character based on her was going to be named Nikki Heat and then with the release of _Heat Wave_, things had really blown up.

Oh god. She could imagine headlines with a thousand bad puns about _Heat_, speculation about how much of the sex scenes in _Heat Wave_ were based on real life, insinuations that she was only with him for the money and the fame.

She was barely able to talk about her private life with Lanie, let alone anyone else, and the idea of having any part of her private life serving as fodder for the tabloids was absolutely horrifying.

"I don't _want_ my private life to be splashed over the papers. And how am I supposed to do my job if I'm constantly tripping over reporters and paparazzi yelling questions at me and taking pictures? How am I even going to be taken seriously as a cop if I'm being written about in the gossip magazines like some gold-digger celebutante?"

"Kate, I'm sorry. I wish I could stop it from happening but I can't."

He sounded as dismayed as she felt and she paused in her pacing to look at him and felt a ripple of warmth breaking through her tension. He looked almost distraught and it was because of her, on her behalf, guilt and worry putting lines of strain around his mouth and eyes.

She forced herself to sit back down next to him, suddenly regretting how she'd leaped up. She generally needed to pace when she got upset but she could see that he had taken her standing up, the fact that she had physically put distance between them, as something like blame. Or even rejection. And she was suddenly reminded that their relationship was so new still, so uncertain in some ways. They were still learning their way forward as a couple.

She put her hand on his knee. "I know, Castle. I don't blame you for it."

He relaxed slightly, covering her hand with his. "I can't stop it," he said again, more calmly. "All we can do is try to control it."

"How can we control it?" she asked, softening still further at his use of the word "we." They were in this together.

"I'll talk to Paula and she'll help."

She shot him a skeptical look. "Will she really? Paula seems more interested in making you do more publicity than limiting it."

"Paula works for me," he stated flatly. He left unsaid the corollary that Paula would do what he told her to but it was clear from his tone that it was what he meant.

Kate blinked, surprised at this glimpse of Castle as a capable, to say nothing of authoritative, businessman. She knew he was more responsible and capable than he usually let on with his outwardly childish behavior; she'd guessed from what she knew about him and about his career that he must have negotiated his early contracts with Black Pawn himself, and judging from the results, had been competent enough at it to protect his own interests even in the competitive, not to say cut-throat, publishing industry.

But she never really thought of Castle as being a businessman of any sort, let alone a successful one, but of course, he was. Publishing was a business, like any other, and while she knew he now had people working for him to handle the business side of his career, the fact remained that he was ultimately in charge of his own career, by necessity, and good enough at it to be as rich and successful as he was. He might be easygoing and playful and silly a lot of the time but he was far from stupid and no naïf when it came to managing his own writing career, publicity and all.

"What do you think we should do to control the publicity?" she asked, feeling a little awkward just in asking—she was absolutely not used to asking anyone else for advice, was used to being the one to take the lead. But in this, when it came to PR and the press, she had to admit she was out of her depth. And she trusted him.

"It will probably be easiest to fold in any confirmation of our relationship to the ramp-up of publicity leading up to the publication of _Naked Heat_," he began.

She stiffened. "Wait. _What_ did you just say?"

He froze, his eyes widening, and he suddenly looked (ridiculously) like a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I—uh—I never told you what the title of this second Nikki Heat book is going to be, did I?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You know very well you didn't."

"Black Pawn suggested the title!" he said rather defensively.

"But you agreed to it."

He tried and failed not to wince a little. "Well, yes," he admitted. "It's a catchy title that will sell more books," he added rather lamely.

"So basically my private life is going to be splashed over the gossip pages right alongside an announcement that the next book about a heroine supposedly inspired by me will be called _Naked Heat_," she summarized. Ugh. She knew she should have shot him to make him change the name Nikki Heat. Too late now.

He winced again. "Sorry?"

Oh damn. He looked absurdly boyish with the sheepishly contrite expression on his face and she felt her irritation dissipating in spite of herself. He hadn't known when he approved the title that their friendship would become so much more and, yes, she had to admit that _Naked Heat_ was certainly a title that would sell books.

Bother. She rolled her eyes and let him see her reluctant smile. "Don't look so scared, Castle. I'm not going to shoot you."

He heaved a sigh of relief that she suspected was only half-exaggerated. "Oh good."

She managed a small smirk. "If I'm going to be in the papers, I think I'd rather be in them as your girlfriend than as your shooter."

It was his turn to smirk, his eyes suddenly glinting with mischief and happiness. "You just called yourself my girlfriend."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Stop smirking, Castle. And you still need to explain how we're going to control the publicity."

He promptly rearranged his expression into sobriety. "The official announcement of the second Nikki Heat book is going to be next month and after that, I usually go on the party circuit for a little while to get my picture in the paper—for the captions to the picture that say something like 'Richard Castle, whose new book goes on sale in September.' So we can go to a few fancy parties, get our picture taken together, and that'll be as much of a confirmation of our relationship that the press will get. And at those parties, there won't be any need to actually talk to any reporters. Paula can contact people she knows, let it get out there that under no circumstances will either of us be talking to anyone when you're on duty. To make up for it, I'll probably need to do a round of interviews and when they ask about us, which they will, I'll pivot the conversation back to the book. Black Pawn suggested the idea of having another big launch party for the next book but I'll veto that because if we do, there won't be any way for you to avoid talking to the press and it'll really increase interest in our relationship."

Kate blinked, taken aback, although she supposed she shouldn't be, at how much thought he had clearly put into this already. "Okay. That doesn't sound too bad," she agreed cautiously. It didn't and she hadn't missed the fact that his plan was geared to minimize her public exposure and put the onus on him. "Will the press really agree not to bother us when I'm on duty?"

He shrugged a little. "There's no absolute guarantee but I think most of them will. Paula has a lot of contacts in the media and she can make it clear that anyone who bothers you will end up on my black list, so to speak, and well, I know people and if I wanted to, I can close a lot of doors to a reporter and no reporter wants that."

Oh. Oh wow. She really hadn't seen this side of Castle in a while, if ever. She suddenly remembered the Allison Tisdale case, the way Castle had called the Mayor, using his connections to pull some strings to get a rush on the fingerprints they were waiting for. He didn't do that sort of thing anymore. He'd used his in with the Mayor to shadow her in the first place but, she suddenly remembered, last summer when she'd kicked him out for having looked into her mother's case, he had not used the Mayor to get back in, had stayed away until the _Heat Wave_ promotional campaign with that photo shoot and the interview for _Cosmo_. And after that John Allen drug-smuggling case, when he'd apologized, she remembered again what he'd said, _if we're not going to see each other again_, and she knew that if she had not let him come back, had not forgiven him, he would not have used the Mayor to force her to let him back in. He could have—she knew that and yet, it had never once occurred to her, when she'd been intent on shutting him out, that he would use his connection with the Mayor to override her wishes.

Even back then, he really hadn't been the spoiled, arrogant jackass she had thought he was. He had changed just in those first months of shadowing her, hadn't he?

And now, he was willing to use his influence, his power, not for himself but for her, to protect her. And she couldn't deny that it made her heart go soft and yielding in her chest. She would never have imagined that she would appreciate protection so much since she normally prided herself on being able to take care of herself. But when it came to dealing with the media, with publicity, she knew she was out of her depth, could not really protect herself—so Castle would.

She realized, too, that this was also what it meant to be with Castle, to have a partner, not just at work but in everything. She wasn't alone anymore. If and when she needed help, he would be there.

It occurred to her that she had become strong and independent because she'd had no choice. It had been necessary for her to survive her mom's death and her dad's essential abandonment for years afterwards. And she _had_ survived, had chosen her career and made a name for herself in it.

For so many years, she had thought that she could only be strong if she was alone, if she never let anyone see that she could ever be vulnerable or might need help. Now, finally, she was beginning to realize that it wasn't a form of weakness but rather a different kind of strength to know when to accept help, to be able to accept help. Now, she thought she could be strong enough not to have to be alone, strong enough to admit that she needed him.

She belatedly realized that she'd been silent for a somewhat awkwardly long space of time and that he was watching her with some uncertainty shading his eyes as he hurriedly added, "We also have two things going for us that should mean that any media interest in our relationship will fade pretty quickly."

"What two things?"

A touch of nervousness entered his tone as he answered, "First, the fact that the NY Ledger reported months ago that we might be… together," he finished a little awkwardly.

She let her lips curve. Funny, how that aggravating—and incorrect—little blurb about them in the NY Ledger had proven to be almost prophetic. She could laugh about it now. "'Rumored to be romantically involved'?"

"Yes, that," he agreed with some relief. "No one needs to know that we only just got together so I can play off any questions about us as asking about old news and Page Six and the other celebrity gossip pages hate to seem behind on the news so they'll be less likely to play up our relationship now."

"And what's the other thing?"

"The other thing is that we're happy together and frankly, the gossip pages like scandal. A happy couple is boring to write about so they should get bored with us fast once they see that this isn't some tawdry affair, nothing scandalous, just two people who are in—who really like each other," he finished rather hurriedly, looking a little uncomfortable.

Two people who are in love. That was what he'd started to say before he'd caught himself.

Her heart pinched as she realized how cautious he was being—Castle, impulsive and with very little filter most of the time, being cautious, watching his words for fear of pushing her, scaring her. Oh, Castle. She realized again how much she must have hurt him by panicking and running off after kissing him for the first time and he'd confessed that he was falling in love with her.

She wanted to tell him she loved him too—she did—but the words wouldn't come. Her throat closed up, her heart suddenly thrashing around like a wild thing in her chest. Oh. Oh god.

She hadn't said those words to anyone but her dad in years. She didn't have positive memories attached to those words, not anymore. She'd said them to her mom, in passing, just days before her mom had died, responding "Love you too" automatically when her mom had said "I love you, Katie-girl," after they'd just made up after a little spat over her mom insisting on her keeping a curfew even then, when she'd been home from Stanford and believed herself to be so grown-up. She inwardly flinched at how… careless she'd been, how… little she'd known about how quickly life could change and how she should never have taken those words so lightly.

Worse, she remembered saying the words to her dad after finding him drunk in his apartment. Remembered the way she'd cried, choking on her sobs as she told her dad that she loved him and begged him not to make her lose him too. Her dad had promised that he would stop drinking after that. But she remembered, too, with the twist in her gut that always accompanied the memory, finding her dad decidedly tipsy just over two weeks later, spilling whisky as he poured more with his shaking hand. She remembered the bleak guilt and devastation contorting her dad's face as he looked at her, remembered thinking with sharp, bitter anger and grief that her dad loved alcohol more than he loved her.

She blinked, shoving the memories back into the darkest corner of her mind where she tried to keep them. Her dad was sober now, himself again.

She'd held the words back, had never said them to Will, hadn't wanted to put herself out there like that, even if she'd believed that she loved him at the time.

Now… she knew she loved Castle, was in love with him, as she'd never loved anyone before—but she couldn't say the words.

Instead, she smirked at him. "Gee, Castle, are you saying we're boring?" And hated herself a little for, once again, using banter to deflect.

He smiled. "Only to the gossip rags but that's because they're idiots and only interested in scandal."

"Well, you know 'all happy families are alike,'" she said lightly.

"'Each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way,'"**** he completed the quote without missing a beat, adding "It is so sexy that you're so well-read."

She grinned, a giddy little thrill wiggling through her at his unfiltered compliment. She knew, of course, that Castle found her physically attractive but she loved—oh, how she loved—that he also found her brains to be sexy too. "I'm more than just a pretty mind, Castle," she quipped.

He laughed aloud and she smirked, inordinately pleased with herself for making him laugh.

But then she cut off his laughter with her lips, kissing him deep and thoroughly, her tongue sweeping into his mouth. She'd had some vague thought that if she couldn't say the words, she could at least reassure him of her feelings by kissing him—but the moment her tongue touched his, any chance that the kiss would be about love rather than sheer, unadulterated lust was gone, incinerated into nothing. His hands immediately tugged her in against him, finding their way beneath the hem of her shirt, as he kissed her back.

Mmm, yeah, she thought fuzzily, the talking part of the evening—to say nothing of the coherent thinking part—was definitely over.

And she let go, losing herself in him.

_~To be continued…~_

* * *

_* _From _Alice in Wonderland_ by Lewis Carroll (Incidentally, I'm convinced, although I couldn't think of a way to mention it in this fic, that Castle has the Jabberwocky poem memorized; it's exactly the sort of thing he would do.)

** From _Pride and Prejudice_ by Jane Austen

*** From the musical "Cinderella," music by Richard Rodgers (Castle has a name-sake—and I'm seriously wondering if Martha named him Richard because of this name-sake) and lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein

**** From _Anna Karenina_ by Leo Tolstoy


	29. Chapter 29

Author's Note: Apologies for the wait for this chapter but RL got in the way. And thank you so much to everyone who's read, followed, and favorited this fic and helped to push it past the 600 review mark. I may not respond to all reviews but I do read and appreciate every single one. And now here's another (very) fluffy chapter for your reading pleasure.

**Feels Like Home**

_Chapter 29_

Castle was ridiculously pleased with Beckett—no, that wasn't quite right. He was in love with her and happy with her; being pleased with her was the least of it. He was proud of her. Silly, since it wasn't like he had anything at all to do with her being amazing, but he was proud of her nevertheless.

Proud and so damn happy he was almost distracted from the words crowding into his brain, making his fingers practically itch with the need to write.

He had not, admittedly, written much at all in the last week, his mind and heart entirely taken up with Kate, with being with Kate. And then today, the words, ideas, had come, invaded his brain so that he was always reminded of the lines by Keats, _When I have fears that I may cease to be/ Before my pen has gleaned my teaming brain_.

He had tried—and had thought he was doing a fairly good job—of hiding his distraction, the fact that a good quarter of his mind, at least, wasn't present, was preoccupied with Nikki and Rook.

He had gotten accustomed to hiding his writing distraction, to being able to stave off the need to write even to the point where he sometimes felt like his head might explode from keeping in the words. Years of being a single parent had trained him in that. Alexis had not been a difficult child or even a particularly demanding one but all young kids needed constant supervision and attention so he'd gotten used to waiting until Alexis was sleeping or in school before settling in to write, no matter how the words might be building up in his head.

He was annoyed at himself, at his own brain, for choosing this evening to start churning with words. He'd been looking forward to this evening because he'd known that it was the first evening he and Kate would have the loft to themselves because Alexis had plans with friends and, it being a Friday, wouldn't be home until around 11—her own self-imposed curfew. And while Alexis had retreated to her room to do her homework the last couple nights after dinner was over, the very fact of her presence at dinner and afterwards had necessarily precluded him and Kate from really being alone. And as much as he adored his daughter, he had to admit that her presence rather put a damper on the possibility of romance. So he'd been happily anticipating the thought of having an evening entirely alone with Kate.

Except his brain had started to teem with ideas, words, the exact way to write about the final clues coming together for Nikki and Rook to figure out the story. Damn it, why did his brain not seem to understand that he was looking forward to his first romantic evening alone in his home with the woman he loved? Come on, any other time—hell, 3 a.m. would have been a more convenient—and more welcome—time for a burst of inspiration.

He managed what he hoped was an insouciant smile as she teasingly nudged his knee with hers. He finished off the wine in his glass even as his heart flipped at the warmth in her eyes. Even after three nights with Beckett—three mind-blowing, incredible nights—he simply could not get over the sheer amazement of seeing Kate smiling at him like this, touching him, being able to look at her and see everything that he felt for her reflected back to him in her eyes.

And in spite of the mass of words, the mental images, jostling for prominence in his brain, he couldn't help but think that the reality of Kate Beckett was so much better in every way than the fiction of Nikki Heat. He could spend the rest of his life trying—he had every intention of doing just that—but he didn't think he'd ever succeed in doing justice to Kate Beckett through his words.

Kate gave him an odd look that he couldn't quite read and then leaned over to kiss him quickly. (His brain blanked for a moment. Being kissed by Kate was… indescribable. And he didn't think he would ever get over the amazement that Kate could and would kiss him so casually.) "I can take care of cleaning up dinner, Castle," she murmured against his lips. "You go and write since I know you want to."

"How did you know? I've been trying to hide it," he blurted out and then abruptly stopped, belatedly realizing that he'd just admitted that he did want to write. Damn it, she'd tricked the confession out of him. He needed to get his brain-to-mouth filter, spotty at the best of times, working properly.

She laughed softly. "Don't worry, Castle. It hasn't been that obvious but I know you pretty well. You were quiet the last hour at the precinct and you didn't say a word in the car on the way back to the loft and I can recognize the sort of quiet you get when you're mentally writing."

He blinked. "You've categorized the different ways I'm quiet? And here I thought I almost never stopped talking."

She smirked at him. "Oh, you still talk too much, Castle, but yeah, in the rare times when you are quiet, I can generally tell if it's the writing-quiet or the brooding-quiet or the thinking-about-the-case-quiet."

"I think you're scaring me, Detective. How am I going to keep your good opinion if you keep figuring out all my secrets?" he quipped.

She grinned. "Too late for that, Castle. I think I've figured you out."

He made a small face. "I'm sorry for being distracted this evening."

Her smile softened a little. "Don't worry about it; you weren't noticeably distracted, not really, but I—" she paused, ducking her head, faint flags of color appearing in her cheeks, and smiling the small, rather shy, closed-mouth smile that he already recognized as the harbinger for when she was about to make an uncharacteristically sentimental admission of some sort (he loved this smile—well, he loved all her smiles—but he really loved seeing this one), "I know what it's like to have your undivided attention so I could tell."

Oh, Kate. He had fallen in love with the kickass detective but he had to admit that this somewhat shy version of Kate was adorable. (Although he decided not to ever tell her that since he would prefer not getting shot or maimed.)

She looked back up at him and added in a tone that ended up sounding brisk, even curt, as if to erase the memory of her little admission, "Besides, your fingers are twitching the way they always do when you really want to write."

He couldn't help but smile. Damn. Busted. "You really have learned my tells, haven't you, Beckett?"

"I'm a detective."

"The best detective in the city," he interjected and heard the pride in his own voice. Because she was and he was floored all over again at the thought that now, somehow, she was with him. He flat out could not get over the amazement that Kate Beckett was his, that she loved him.

She bit her lip but couldn't hold back her soft smile or entirely hide the tinge of color in her cheeks. (And he loved that too, the way she reacted when he complimented her sometimes. She was so confident most of the time and yet occasionally, when he praised her, she would flush and smile a small, almost shyly pleased smile.) "Go write, Castle."

He hesitated, honestly torn between his wish for her company and the insistent writer's itch. "Are you sure? I don't have to, Beckett. I wanted to spend this evening with you since we've got the loft to ourselves."

"It's okay, Castle, really. We'll have other evenings. You want to write; you're practically bursting with it. So write it out. I understand."

Oh, he loved her. He really did.

She'd said she didn't think she was good at relationships and he could understand why she would say that. Beckett was independent, too much so at times, could be prickly, stubborn, and closed-off about her emotions, anything that troubled her or hurt her. He knew all that, expected it would cause friction between them at some point. But she was also loyal and dedicated and loving—and in these last few days, or the last weeks since she'd been staying at the loft and he'd started to see more frequent glimpses of the real warmth of her heart—he could also see the ways in which Kate was amazing in a relationship. And he wasn't thinking of her utterly devastating hotness in bed. He didn't know how it might be in a relationship Kate wasn't committed to but when she _was_, to see how much she was trying, how much she _cared_, how much she understood, it was incredible and humbling and overwhelming.

For at least the hundredth time in the last four days, Castle felt the words, _I love you_, forming in his throat but he bit them back, again, and said, instead, "Thank you." It was getting harder to hold the words back but so far he'd succeeded in doing so. He didn't—not really—expect her to run if and when he said the words again but he still wanted to wait. Wait just a little while longer until everything about their relationship stopped feeling quite so momentous.

She smiled and brushed her lips briefly against his. "I always knew you're a writer."

He cupped her cheek in his hand and kissed her rather more lingeringly, letting her feel his gratitude through his kiss, before he drew back. "Feel free to interrupt me if you get bored or start to miss me too much."

As he expected, that got a trademark Beckett eye-roll and he grinned to himself. (There might be something wrong with him to find her rolling her eyes to be so cute but really, he kind of loved that he could get under her skin like this, provoking the normally calm, competent Detective Beckett out of her professional shell.) "I'm sure I can survive a few hours without you," she smirked, sounding much more like the Beckett he'd known for more than a year now than the Kate he had really gotten to know in these last weeks and especially in these last few days.

"I have no doubt about that but you could try to sound less cheerful about it," he pretended to grumble.

She only laughed at him. "Go away and write, Castle."

"Yes, yes, fine," he gave in, not that his doing so was ever in doubt.

She fluttered her fingers at him in a small wave. "I'll be here whenever you get out of your writing haze."

Oh. Warmth settled inside his chest at her words, lingering even as he moved into his office and sat down at his desk. His mind was buzzing with words, with the scenes he wanted to write, his fingers almost itching with the need to start typing, but he paused for another second, listening to the faint sounds of Beckett moving around in his kitchen, cleaning up after dinner.

And at that moment, he felt a sort of peace, a serenity, settling over him. This—this relationship with Kate now—was really happening, was real and true and solid. As happy—blissfully, euphorically happy—as he had been these past few days, it had also felt as if his heart, his very soul, had been tiptoeing, a little tentative and uncertain of himself, of them. As if some little part of him thought that being with Kate like this might just be part of a dream, a lovely fantasy he'd concocted for himself.

Now, he felt as if he was finally convinced that this was real, that he and Kate were actually together, having a real relationship with all the messiness that a real relationship in real life entailed, the little and not so little annoyances of trying to make two different people with their own habits and their own lives mesh. A little odd but rather fitting too to have it happen like this, because his writer's brain got in the way of their first evening really alone as a couple.

He knew from past experience that he wasn't the easiest person to be with because of his writer's brain, the way he had a tendency to get distracted, get lost in his own head and the fictional worlds he created rather than in the present.

Meredith had always rather resented his periods of distraction, had had no scruples about interrupting his writing if she felt he'd been ignoring her for too long. She had gotten annoyed that when he was writing, there were times he wouldn't hear her when she said his name. And it hadn't exactly helped that Meredith had noticed that no matter how involved in his writing he might be, he never failed to hear even the smallest sound from Alexis.

Gina had, of course, supported his writing but she'd tried to make him write on a schedule, a set time every day, so that his writing would coincide with her own work hours and never get in the way of the times when she actually wanted to spend time with him. He could acknowledge now, with hindsight and the added self-awareness of the years, that he had not responded well to Gina's pressuring him into writing on a schedule. Something about Gina seemed to bring out all his contrarian impulses and his latent stubbornness, so that rather than listen to her, he'd dug in his heels and usually set out to do almost the opposite of whatever she'd said.

Even so, Gina's increasingly forceful, if well-meaning, attempts to make him write on a schedule probably would have been doomed to failure anyway. He simply wasn't that disciplined of a writer and he had never been able to write on command, as it were. Maybe some writers could do that, write from 9 to 5 and then leave the rest of the day free, but he had never been one of them. For the most part, he preferred to write when the inspiration struck him, which was at all hours of the day and night and only when a deadline was really looming (or sometimes already past) was he able to force himself to write and finish up a draft of a book. But even then, it usually only worked because by the time the deadline had come up, he had reached the point in the book where all the puzzle pieces were falling into place and things started to rush along towards the climactic scenes which tended to be the easiest to write because he always knew from the beginning how a story was going to end.

Kyra was probably the only person he had ever been with who had understood about his writing and when he needed to write, who had accepted the vagaries of his writer's brain and what it could mean for people in his life.

And now, he had Kate. Kate, who knew him well enough to recognize when he wanted to write and then allowed him to do so, even on their first evening alone together. She knew him so well; he was beginning to believe that she might know him better than anyone else, even including his family. She understood about his need to write; she had said so but more than that, he'd been able to see in the clear candor of her eyes as she'd looked at him that she meant it. She really did understand. And he was, not for the first time, amazed that Kate Beckett was here with him—was his girlfriend (he felt a silly grin split his face, one he simply couldn't control whenever he thought those words—the most incredible, sexiest woman he had ever met was _his girlfriend_!)

She was amazing—and she was waiting for him. The faster he got the words out, the sooner he could focus completely on her.

That galvanized him and he plunged into writing with an eagerness he hadn't felt in a while, getting swept up in the world of Nikki and Rook, the words flooding his mind almost faster than he could type.

As usual when he was really in the zone, his consciousness of his surroundings and his hearing of anything that happened faded away to the very periphery of his awareness. (The single exception was anything that sounded like a sound of distress from Alexis; when she'd been little, the sound of Alexis crying had probably been the only thing that would penetrate his writing haze which, at times, was complete enough that he wouldn't even hear the phone ringing.)

He had no conception of time passing, focused on the pivotal interview that would set the final puzzle pieces in place for Nikki and then Rook's brain-wave to find the last piece of evidence at the center of the investigation. He was vaguely, peripherally aware that someone—Beckett—had entered his office but she didn't speak so he didn't look up and after a few minutes, even his awareness of her presence faded, leaving only an added little buzz of adrenaline and inspiration.

He finished writing Rook's brain-wave, scanned the last few paragraphs, changing a word here and a phrase there, then hit save with a distinct sense of triumph. He would need to read over what he'd written later, when he had a clearer head, but he could already sense that what he'd written was solid. These bursts of inspiration generally saw him do his best writing but beyond that, he could usually tell when he'd written something solid, when he'd managed to get a scene right. Everything was in place now for the final confrontation. He really was on track to get the first draft of _Naked Heat_ done in good time for the deadline.

He saved the document again, out of habit and caution, with a dramatic stab of his finger, letting out a "Ha, done!" of accomplishment.

That done, he felt full awareness return, realizing belatedly that his neck felt a little stiff from having stayed in the same position for so long, his fingers were cramped from typing, and he was beginning to feel as if his body had been frozen into his chair. He had, he realized, been writing for nearly three hours.

Oh. Kate.

He looked up to see that Kate was curled up in the other chair in his office, a book on her lap but she wasn't reading. She was focused on him. Looked as if she'd been watching him write for a while since her book was closed. There was an odd look on her face, one he couldn't quite identify, a faint almost-smile touching her lips, her eyes dark and gleaming so his brain suddenly thought, _all that's best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes_.* (Oh god, being in love was turning him into such a sap.)

She met his eyes and smiled more definitely. "Back in the land of the living?"

"Have you been watching me write?" he blurted out in answer.

"Mm hmm," she hummed an affirmative response.

He smirked, feeling his brain fully returning to action. "I have it on good authority that staring is creepy."

She shot him a teasing little smile. "You've spent the last year watching me do my work so I figured it's only fair that I watch you do yours."

He made a small face. "Yes, but watching you work is interesting since your work consists of tracking down killers. Watching me work consists of watching me type."

She shrugged a little in what looked like an attempt at nonchalance but she had that expression on her face again, that ghost of a smile flitting around her lips, brightening her eyes. "It's still interesting. I've never really watched you when you're in your writing haze so I didn't realize you'd focus on it so intensely. It's the first time you haven't paid any attention when I walked into a room."

Her tone was light, a more definite smile flitting around her lips, but he still winced. He'd heard similar things from both Meredith and Gina and he felt a quick, Pavlovian stab of apprehension. "I'm sorry. I don't… mean to ignore you but when I get in the zone, it's… really hard to get back into it if my concentration is broken by looking up."

She sobered a little. "Castle, I'm not annoyed at you."

He let out an involuntary sigh of relief. "Oh good."

"I know what it's like to be so focused on something and I get irritable too when something breaks that concentration. You've seen the way I react sometimes when you make me take a break for lunch." Her lips quirked into a small, self-deprecating smile.

He gave an exaggerated shudder of dismay. "Oh, I know all too well how you react when someone disturbs your concentration."

She laughed at his dramatics, as he'd intended her to, and then tilted her head to one side as she studied him, that unidentifiable expression returning to her face, that same barely-there smile just touching the corners of her lips. "Do you know that you make faces and mutter to yourself when you're writing?"

Oh. Castle suddenly found it hard to breathe. He knew what that look on her face was now, one he oddly, belatedly recognized because it was what he imagined his own face must look like when he watched Beckett in an interrogation or when she started thinking aloud to put the pieces of a mystery in place. Those times when all her cleverness, the force of her personality were on display so that she was positively incandescent, irradiating more energy than was used to power Times Square. It was fascination.

Oh wow. _She_ was fascinated by the way he wrote, his writing process. Fascinated by _him_.

It was… amazing, incredible, _humbling_.

"I do know that, actually," he finally managed to say. He did know it; other people had pointed out to him that when he started mentally writing and forgot himself, he occasionally spoke aloud, and he knew too that he sometimes tried speaking bits of dialogue aloud to make sure it sounded natural.

Kate smiled a little. "You seemed like you're satisfied with what you wrote today."

"I am. I'll need to read it over again with fresh eyes but I think I got the essence of the scenes down so it'll only be a matter of making a few little edits."

"'Something attempted, something done, has earned a night's repose.'"

"Ooh, Longfellow, nice one," he approved.

Her expression softened, became tinged with melancholy so he guessed what she was going to say before she said it. "My mom liked Longfellow; she used to quote those lines to me after a busy day."

His heart pinched in his chest. He knew how hard it was for Kate to talk about her mom, knew how closely Kate guarded her memories of her mom, cherishing each one like a miser hoarding a precious treasure. And it never failed to get to him that Kate, somehow, trusted him enough to share some of her memories of her mom.

"'Thus at the flaming forge of life, Our fortunes must be wrought,'" he quoted softly.

She met his eyes and they spoke the rest of the poem together, quietly. "'Thus on its sounding anvil shaped, Each burning deed and thought.'"**

They exchanged small, faint smiles and there was a brief moment of silence that Kate finally broke by asking, with a deliberately bright smile and a little too much cheer infusing her voice, "So what are Nikki and Rook up to now?"

He smirked at her, falling in with her clear wish to dispel the seriousness. "Why, Beckett, are you asking for spoilers?"

She grinned at him. "Does that offend your artistic sensitivities, Mr. Castle?"

"Yes," he huffed with mock annoyance.

She quirked her eyebrows at him, twisting her mouth into an exaggerated moue of disappointment—that had the no-doubt unintentional effect of making his attention focus on her lips and sending a jolt of arousal through him. "And here I was hoping that getting spoilers would be a perk of sleeping with the author."

Oh damn. _Sleeping with the author. _She didn't change her tone but then she didn't need to; the phrase was quite evocative enough, images, memories swamping his mind. Oh god.

He'd known it from the moment he'd turned around and first seen her holding up her badge but holy hell, Kate Beckett was the hottest woman he had ever seen. And she affected him about as strongly as a solid punch to the head and then a body blow to his stomach, leaving him a little dizzy and gasping for breath.

He blinked and finally managed to muster enough coherence to ask, "Do you really want to know what Nikki and Rook are up to?"

"You sound so surprised, Castle."

"I—uh—I didn't think you'd be the sort of person that wanted to hear spoilers."

She gave him one of her patented challenging Beckett looks. "Oh yeah? Why do you think that?"

"Because you're logical, orderly, methodical. It's the way you work, the way you approach things. You don't cut corners and while you're curious enough that you'd be tempted to find out, you have the self-control not to give in to that curiosity. So no, I don't think you'd be the sort of person who would want spoilers any more than I think you're the sort of person who skips ahead to the end of a book before you've finished it."

She wasn't smiling, was just studying him with an expression he couldn't quite read on her face, and he knew a moment of panic. Had he sounded too sure of himself as if he thought he knew all about her? (He didn't; he didn't think he would ever learn all there was to know about her.) Telling her to her face what sort of person she was—put like that, it suddenly sounded like the height of arrogance. Or patronization. Neither of which was likely to win him any points from Beckett.

And then she smiled and he relaxed.

"Cute trick. You really do know me now, don't you?"

He stilled, a sudden memory winging back to him from more than a year ago. The time when he had been showing off—he inwardly grimaced at the memory—and told Beckett what he'd guessed of her story, remembered the vulnerable tremble of her lips, the way her eyes had darkened with remembered pain, and what she'd said, pulling herself together. _Cute trick. But don't think you know me. _

Now, remembering, he thought that that might have been the moment that had really intrigued him, the one where he'd begun to realize that this hot detective would be more than just a conquest. She had made him feel ashamed of himself—and shame was not something he was used to feeling. He had set out to impress her and instead been made to feel like an insensitive jackass—he _had been_ an insensitive jackass and not for the first time, he realized that knowing Kate Beckett, and falling for her, had made him a better man.

At the time, she'd been right. He hadn't known her. For all his arrogance and his boasting in telling Beckett why she was a cop, he hadn't really known her at all.

He suddenly remembered what she'd said just a few days ago. _I'm not the easiest person to get to know. _ She wasn't—but he knew her now. She acknowledged that he knew her now. His heart pinched a little. He wasn't sure why it meant so much but somehow it did.

"I suppose I do but I don't think I'll ever know everything there is to know about you, Beckett," he responded. "You—the real you—are a mystery I'm never going to solve."

She ducked her head a little, lowering her lashes as she smiled a small, closed-mouth smile at her lap. "I may be a mystery but you're not wrong. I don't look for spoilers or skip ahead in books."

"Do you really want to know what Nikki and Rook are up to? I'll tell you if you really want to know," he offered and meant it.

She laughed softly. "Nah, that's okay, Castle. I think I can wait to read the book when it's finished."

He closed his laptop. "Well, I'm done with Nikki for the night so I'm all yours now."

She gave him a decidedly flirtatious look through her lashes. "All mine, hmm? What am I going to do with you?"

He choked on air, his body reacting immediately to the seductive mischief lacing her tone. "I can suggest a few things," he managed to croak.

"We could watch a movie… or play cards… or…"

She drew the last word out, letting it linger in the air, before she stood up, flicking a half-teasing, wholly sultry glance at him before she headed towards his bedroom, a little extra sway in the movement of her hips.

It took him a few seconds to move, her last look having effectively cleared his brain of anything and momentarily severing his ability to control his own limbs.

From his bedroom, he heard her playful voice. "Oh Castle, you coming?"

He almost tripped over his own feet in his haste to leap up out of his chair and nearly stumbled in his uncoordinated rush across his office. Yeah, he was definitely coming.

* * *

Later, much later, Castle lay sprawled on his back in his bed with Kate half-draped over him, her head lying on his shoulder, one arm flung across his chest and one leg tucked between his. He shifted beneath her, careful not to dislodge her, as he curled one arm loosely around her shoulders.

She huffed out a breath. "Stop wiggling, Castle," she mumbled, somehow managing to sound authoritative even in a mumble.

He stopped, having settled into a more comfortable position, his lips curving into an entirely self-satisfied smile that would probably have made Beckett roll her eyes or poke him if she'd been in a position to see it. This had rapidly become his favorite time of the day—or night—this time lying in bed with Kate, when they had settled into their habitual position with Kate using his chest as her pillow and generally nestled against him.

(He loved—oh, how he loved—that he and Kate already had a cuddling position that could be characterized as habitual. He hadn't expected habits to form so quickly but somehow, already, it was… easy… to be with Kate like this. There hadn't been much, if any, awkward shuffling around each other in bed as they tried to figure out how they would fit together. It had only been three nights but already, cuddling with Kate felt natural—and he was amazed, too, at Kate's apparent willingness, not to say eagerness, to cuddle with him. He would never have expected it but in this, as in so many other things, she surprised him.)

"Castle, I want to tell you something."

He turned his head so he could look at her. "What is it, Beckett?"

She lifted her head to rest her chin on his chest so she could meet his eyes. He inwardly winced—her chin was a little too pointed for comfort—and moved one hand to gently nudge her chin up so her chin was resting on his hand rather than on his chest.

Her expression was serious but not sad or otherwise troubled so he wasn't particularly worried about what it might be. And part of him was still rather marveling that Beckett—his intensely private Beckett who wasn't exactly forthcoming when it came to her thoughts or her feelings—was volunteering to talk. She wasn't, as she'd said, the easiest person to get to know—but she was _trying_. And that meant everything.

"I think I've found a new apartment."

He blinked, stared. "What? But I thought—I don't want you to leave." He knew his voice was edging perilously close to a whine but he couldn't seem to help that. He didn't want her to move out, had been going to tell her—ask her—to stay at the loft forever but he'd hoped that she might decide to stay on her own, especially now that they were together. He loved that she was the last person he saw before he fell asleep, loved waking up to see her—or, more accurately, being woken up by her since Beckett was a morning person and always woke up at ridiculously early hours.

Her expression softened a little as she moved one hand to touch his cheek lightly, the one touch managing to calm him. Clever Beckett, one part of his mind reflected. She had to have known perfectly well that he wasn't going to be pleased so she'd told him when they were lying in bed together, when she knew that his reactions would be muted because he found it very hard to feel too upset with Kate's naked body nestled so closely against his, when she could soothe him freely with her touch.

"Castle, you know my staying here was always supposed to be a temporary thing."

"But that was before," he objected. "I thought—I hoped—that now that we're… together, you'd stay. Here, with me," he added rather unnecessarily. "You know you don't have to leave, right? I want you here, Alexis cares about you and has liked having you around, and I thought… Kate, I thought you've liked staying here too."

"I have liked staying here—I _do_ like it here, Castle, you know that. I just feel like it's… too soon for me to really move in on a more permanent basis."

"But…"

She silenced him by touching one finger to his lips. "And it's not because I'm not sure about you or about us or anything. I am. I'm in this. Just… listen, Castle, this—you and me—it's still… new, so new, and I might have been staying here for weeks now but that was… different. It would be… different for me to decide to move in here, to your bedroom, permanently. We've only been together for a couple days…"

"A couple amazing days," he interrupted because he couldn't help it.

She flushed, a small smile curving her lips, her eyes brightening. "A couple amazing days," she repeated, very quietly, and he swore his heart flipped in his chest at her agreement. "But it's still too soon for me to move in permanently. You didn't have Gina move in here until after you were engaged to her."

"That was different," he said immediately. And it was. His and Gina's relationship could not be compared to his and Kate's; there was no comparison. He had never, even at the height of his feelings for Gina, ever felt for her what he did for Kate. (He was guiltily aware of that since he wasn't exactly proud of the realization that he had never really been in love with his second wife.) Kate was… different. What he felt for Kate was different—more than what he'd ever felt for Meredith or for Gina or for Kyra. Kate was… the love of his life.

"I know, Castle. I'm just saying… it's too soon. If I hadn't been staying here, if my apartment hadn't exploded, you wouldn't have asked me to move in this quickly, Castle. I know—we both know you wouldn't have. It's just… too soon."

He opened his mouth to deny it but then closed it again. Because she was right. If it hadn't been for the circumstances of her staying at the loft, if they had just somehow (miraculously) gotten together, he wouldn't have asked. And even now, thinking about it rationally, he had to admit she was right. It would be moving too fast. Not because he doubted her or what he felt for her or even what she felt for him—he didn't. And not even because he didn't want her to move in with him. But it was too soon for Kate to decide to move in and stay, permanently. He knew her. And he knew it was too soon for her. And maybe, in some ways, too soon for him too. After all, he had not even told her in so many words that he was in love with her (although he had every intention of doing so soon, his writer's brain already trying to plan out the perfect moment to make a romantic declaration of love).

"And it's not only that," she went on, interrupting his thoughts. "It's also about Alexis."

He frowned a little. "Alexis likes having you around. She'll get used to seeing us together, Kate, I promise, and—"

"Castle, no," she broke in. "Alexis has been great, you know she has been. It's just... I feel like… we should give her some time to adjust to, well, everything. She's… not used to having to share you when you're at home in the loft, you know, Castle. And it's different, accepting me as a temporary house-guest than accepting me as her father's live-in girlfriend on a more permanent basis."

That was true. Alexis wasn't used to having to share him when they were at the loft. He remembered what she'd said just a few weeks ago when his mother had been considering moving in with Chet, that at first, Alexis hadn't been able to imagine having his mother around all the time. Even when Gina had been around, it had still, mostly, been him and Alexis when they were at the loft; he had focused almost all of his attention and his energy on Alexis even then and he knew, in hindsight, that Gina had never entirely felt at home in the loft. He had even been surprised at how… easy… it had been for Gina to move out of the loft when they had separated, how quickly it had seemed normal for the loft to be just him and Alexis again.

He remembered, too, the way Alexis had asked after finding out about him and Kate if Kate was going to be moving in. Her question hadn't exactly indicated unalloyed delight at the prospect. And he had to admit that there had been times in the last few days—even in the last weeks since Kate had been staying at the loft—that he had felt a little guiltily aware of not giving Alexis his undivided attention the way he usually did when they were at home.

He had, rather selfishly, been thinking only of himself and what he wanted in having Kate around all the time. He had not really stopped to consider it from Alexis's perspective.

Unlike Kate. Oh, Kate Beckett was a good woman. It seemed like the lamest compliment; he was accustomed to thinking of Kate as extraordinary, describing her in superlative, expressive adjectives—and she was all those things. But she was also, at the simplest and yet most profound level, a good woman.

He couldn't quite help making a small face. "I suppose you're right. We should give Alexis a little more time to get used to the idea of us."

"Don't sound so disgruntled, Castle. It's not like I'll be going far; we'll still be working together during the day and spending our evenings together." She gave him a small smile. "I was rather thinking that I'll follow Martha's example."

He fixed a look of unfeigned dismay on her. "I don't know what you mean but I really don't like the sound of that. My mother is many things but a role model when it comes to relationships is not one of them."

Kate laughed softly and poked him in the side, making him yelp and squirm. "Be nice, Castle. What I meant was that even after I move out, I think I'll divide my time between my apartment and here, rather like Martha has been between Chet's place and here."

"Oh. Okay, I guess that doesn't sound so bad," he conceded with something less than good humor. He was being rather petulant—he knew he was—he might acknowledge that she was right (as usual—although he wouldn't say so out loud) but he still wasn't exactly pleased with the idea of Beckett leaving the loft. Thinking about it rationally, he could even accept that he shouldn't want to rush things. This relationship with Kate was too important—he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her—and he didn't want to risk anything by rushing. Also, he could see that there were good things too about taking the time to just enjoy their new relationship, enjoy being with Kate like this.

Except… Kate was already here, had been staying here for weeks now. And he'd sort of… gotten accustomed to it, had been spoiled by her constant presence. And he wasn't the most patient person at the best of times.

Rationally, he knew she was right that it was too soon, for them and for Alexis, but emotionally, he didn't want her to go. He wanted Kate to stay.

He was, he realized discontentedly, beginning to sound like a spoiled child even to his own ears.

He could do better than that. Should do better than that. Kate deserved better than that.

"Tell me about this new apartment," he asked in an attempt to erase his petulance.

She smiled at him more definitely and he realized that she knew perfectly well what he was doing. Of course she did. If he knew her, she knew him too.

"It's a one-bedroom in the Upper East Side, not too far from the precinct. There's an open-floor plan for the kitchen and living room area. The bedroom and the bathroom are on one side of it and on the other side, there's another small room that I'll probably use as a library/office." She paused and then smiled faintly. "In all honesty, I didn't think I had a chance of getting the apartment when I submitted my rental application. The super who let me in told me there were other people looking and also, I've found that most building owners aren't thrilled at the idea of having a tenant whose last apartment was destroyed by a serial killer's bomb."

"That's wasn't your fault," he blurted out, taking automatic (and irrational) offense on her behalf.

"No, but as a rule, building owners prefer that bombs aren't set off in their buildings. So I thought I barely had a chance but then I got a call today and it turns out that the owner is friends with my dad. My dad helped him out a few years ago with something with the housing commission and they hit it off and stayed in touch. So he saw my rental application and called today to ask if I was any relation to Jim Beckett."

"Wow, small world."

She smiled. "Yeah. Even better, my dad's done him some favors over the years so he's agreed to knock a couple hundred off the rent for me too which makes it easier for me to afford it."

"That is lucky." He tried—really he did—to sound pleased for her because it _was_ lucky and if anyone deserved good luck in her life, it was Beckett, but for all that, he couldn't quite manage it because he couldn't help the (unworthy) thought that if Kate hadn't managed to find another apartment, she would still have to stay in the loft and if it had taken much longer—say, another couple months—for her to find another apartment, it would no longer be too soon for Kate to decide to just… stay.

Her expression changed and she lifted her head to study him and he knew she'd heard his lack of enthusiasm in his tone—of course she had.

She lowered her eyes to focus on his chest, one finger beginning to trace idle (distracting) patterns just beneath his clavicle. "But you should know," she began, her tone serious and he felt a frown beginning to form, "that I won't be able to move in to the apartment until June 1 so…" she paused and then went on, teasing seeping into her tone, "I was wondering if I could impose on your hospitality for another couple weeks until then."

He choked on a laugh, thoroughly distracted from his disgruntlement. "I think," he managed to say, "my hospitality can stretch that far."

She looked up to meet his eyes again, her eyes bright with laughter and at the same time soft with so much affection it made his heart stutter in his chest. And he thought that he had never seen Kate look as utterly beautiful as she did at that moment. Kate was, of course, always gorgeous (the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen—although he admitted to a tiny bit of bias in that opinion)—but happiness (and love, a corner of his mind inserted) had put an added luster in her eyes, color in her cheeks, and generally made her… almost glow.

(_Oh god, that was disgustingly sappy, Rick._)

Yeah, he was besotted, infatuated, thoroughly smitten.

"And you know," she began softly, "I was thinking that my apartment would be a place where we can be totally… completely… _alone_…"

Her voice dropped towards the end into the velvety tone that feathered across his nerve endings and had his body reacting automatically and the last word was a seduction in and of itself.

Put like that… She was brilliant—and oh so sexy.

"I knew I fell in love with you for a reason."

Wait. What? He froze. Shit. That was not his planned romantic declaration of love. That was a moment of mindlessness where his brain lost control over his tongue.

But he looked at her and saw that she was smiling—and he couldn't bring himself to care that he'd messed up the planned perfect moment to tell her for the first time in so many words that he loved her.

He loved her and she knew it and she was smiling. Really, what more did he need than that?

"Oh, Rick," she murmured.

His eyes closed for a moment because he loved the sound of his first name on her lips. It was silly, he supposed, but somehow, his first name sounded… different… coming from her. He didn't know why since, after all, Rick was what just about everyone in his life outside of the precinct and his immediate family called him. But from Kate, his first name sounded… special… like a term of endearment used only between them. And maybe it was just because she almost never used it; he was "Castle" to her (just as she was, still, usually, "Beckett" to him) but in these past few days, she had occasionally called him Rick and he loved it.

And then she kissed him, softly at first, but, well, she was naked and he was naked and his body had already been at least half-aroused just from the way she'd talked about their being alone and there was no way a kiss could stay soft and tender in those circumstances, and the kiss immediately flared into more, became hot and deep and desperate.

And his last coherent thought before he was utterly lost in her was that what he really heard when she called him by his first name was, _I love you_.

_~(Almost) the End~_

* From the poem "She Walks in Beauty" by Lord Byron.

** From the poem "The Village Blacksmith" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

A/N 2: I expect a few of you are even less pleased at the idea of Beckett moving out of the loft than Castle is but on thinking about it, I really didn't think that Beckett, even after everything, would move in to the loft for good. This is, after all, the same person who didn't give up her own apartment until after she and Castle were actually married in canon. As much as I've changed things in this fic—and obviously accelerated Castle and Beckett's relationship by a lot—I've been trying to keep both Castle and Beckett as in-character as possible and Beckett still wanting her own apartment is one of those things.

And finally, this is the last chapter except for an epilogue to come that I plan to finish and post before the Season 8 premiere and then this fic will really be done.


	30. Epilogue

Author's Note: As far as I'm concerned—and for the purposes of this fic, Alexis's summer program started in late June because there is no way a summer program for high school students would start on Memorial Day as most high schools in the U.S. don't get out for the summer until mid-June anyway. Anyway, moving on to the epilogue that is, I'm sure, what people actually care about. Fluff ahead!

**Feels Like Home**

_Epilogue_

_~July 4, 2010~_

Kate paused at the door, lingering for just a moment before she went back outside to join everyone.

She felt a faint smile flitting at the corners of her lips, warmth blossoming in her chest. These people, everyone here who had joined her and Castle in the Hamptons for the long weekend, were the people she cared about most in the world. The only ones missing were Martha, away on tour for the summer, and Captain Montgomery, who, along with his wife Evelyn and his kids, had been invited but who had declined because his kids had already made plans for the holiday weekend.

These people were her family, in every sense of the word—no, _their_ family. Hers and Castle's. And not for the first time in the last few days, she felt a rush of gratitude and, yes, love for Castle, for planning this weekend, for insisting on inviting everyone to his house—more of a small mansion, really—in the Hamptons.

Kate had only been able to gape when she and Castle had first arrived here a week ago, ahead of everyone else, since Kate had, at Castle's request, taken a few extra vacation days in advance of the holiday so she and Castle had had a few idyllic days out here, just the two of them, before everyone else had arrived two days ago.

Her eyes rested fondly on Alexis, who had agreed to join them for the weekend after much cajoling, not to say begging, from Castle and whom Castle would be driving back to Princeton tomorrow to return to her summer program that had just started two weeks ago. Alexis was smiling and chatting lightly with both Lanie and Jenny, who was, Kate had quickly decided, probably the sweetest woman Kate had ever met and the perfect match for Ryan, who still somehow managed to retain something of innocence about him in spite of his years of being a cop.

Ryan and Esposito were nursing beers and, from the looks of it, were still engaged in the same teasing argument, interspersed with playful insults, about something or other that they'd begun before she'd gone back into the house to put on more sunblock.

And beyond Ryan and Espo, standing a little ways off by the grill that he was prepping to make their dinner, Castle was talking to her dad. Kate felt her heart softening, even as it felt buoyant with happiness in her chest as she watched these two men she loved the most in the world. Her dad was gesturing with his can of soda as he spoke about something and even from this distance, Kate could see that her dad was engrossed in the subject. She knew her dad's posture, his expressions, and even at that distance, she could tell how much her dad was enjoying his conversation with Castle.

And Castle—also drinking soda and not beer, out of respect for her dad, Kate knew, although Castle hadn't said a word about it—was listening intently. Castle's back was to the house so Kate couldn't see his face but she knew Castle's ways too—more accurately, she knew how to recognize the subtle tell-tale signs for when Castle was distracted or bored and listening only out of courtesy—and those signs weren't there. Castle was entirely still, for once not fidgeting at all, in that way he got when he was engrossed in something. Oh.

Kate stilled, an odd sort of realization settling over her. Her dad and Castle were… friends. It was an odd thing to think, somehow, but she could see that it was true. Somehow, they got along, conversed easily in a way that had nothing to do with the fact that one was her father and the other was her boyfriend and partner.

Her dad tended to be quiet in company, had never been inclined to be talkative. It was unusual for her dad to talk at any length with anyone aside from Kate. Her mom had been the only other exception to that rule, as far as Kate knew. Her parents had always talked to each other, long, serious conversations, often having to do with their work since they were both lawyers and could serve as each other's sounding boards, and other less-serious conversations interspersed with laughter. Her parents' murmured voices had served as background noise for much of her early memories.

Kate had noticed that her dad had been talking more often with Castle than he did with, for example, Ryan and Espo, even though her dad had actually known both Ryan and Espo for longer and had met them more often, albeit in much more structured circumstances as Kate's partners at work. But for the first time, it occurred to Kate that it wasn't only about her dad making an effort to get to know Castle better as his daughter's significant other. Everything about her dad's posture, his gestures, the way he was speaking, indicated an honest enjoyment of the conversation—and Castle was clearly just as interested.

She knew that her dad liked Castle, approved of him; he had told her so. And Castle made her too happy for her dad not to like him. And she knew Castle liked her dad—but Castle would almost certainly have liked her dad for her sake regardless.

Now, looking at the way her dad and Castle were talking, Kate could see that they were each enjoying the other's company. And that struck her as surprising. Good, but surprising. It had never really occurred to her—silly and self-centered as it seemed in hindsight—that her dad and Castle might appreciate each other's company for their own sakes. They were so different, really. Her dad was more serious and Castle was, after all, an overgrown boy a lot of the time. Her dad enjoyed baseball, analyzing it, following its stats, and Castle had never had a father to teach him a love of baseball, was not much into any of the usual team sports, for that matter. He kept up with the New York teams on a fairly casual basis but she could tell that for Castle, it was as a means of conversation with other people, rather than something he did for himself. And of course, it helped that Castle was wealthy enough and connected enough that he could personally meet many of the athletes themselves. (She would never get over the thrill of being introduced to Joe Torre.) She tended to forget, though, that Castle was almost incredibly well-read and this, along with a rather varied life experience and his sense of empathy as a writer, made him good company and easy to talk to. And she knew, too, that her dad liked intelligent conversation and whatever else Castle was, he was definitely intelligent.

Kate smiled as she went outside. It could only be a good thing that her dad and her boyfriend got along so well.

Kate headed to Alexis, exchanging smiles with Lanie and Jenny.

"Alexis, I want to hear all about how your summer program is going," Kate said. "We haven't had a chance to really talk since you arrived." It was true; they hadn't. Castle had gone alone to pick Alexis up from Princeton on Friday and by the time he and Alexis had arrived in the Hamptons, her dad had arrived and then the next morning, Ryan and Jenny and Espo and Lanie had joined them.

Alexis's eyes, her entire expression, lit up with that whole-hearted enthusiasm that always reminded Kate of Castle. Alexis was usually so much more serious and, yes, mature than Castle generally behaved but there was no denying that she had inherited all of Castle's capacity for excitement and forthright glee in whatever interested her. "Oh, Kate, I'm having such a great time! I mean, the classes are really intense because they're trying to cram a semester's worth of material into six weeks but it's really cool because everyone there is so smart and we have these really involved discussions in class and it's just so interesting!"

Kate laughed a little as Alexis finally paused to take a breath. "I'm guessing you like it," Kate quipped. "What classes are you taking?"

"French literature, American government, introductory physics, and Trigonometry."

Kate gave a low whistle. "Wow, Alexis, you're not trying to take it easy this summer, are you?"

Alexis shrugged a little. "French lit and government are fun with the discussions we have in class. I'll be taking physics next year in school so I figured getting a head start on it will help me out. And Trig—it's not my favorite but it's just more math."

Kate inwardly marveled, not for the first time, at Alexis's maturity and her general attitude towards her studies. She couldn't imagine thinking such a thing about her classes when she'd been 15 but Alexis was obviously more mature than Kate herself had been at 15. "Better you than me," Kate teased. "I hated physics when I was in high school. So have you made friends with the other kids?"

"Oh, yeah, a few. One girl, Candice, is my neighbor, her room's right next to mine in our dorm, and she's my lab partner in physics and she's in government with me. She's from Boston. And another girl, Leslie, who's one floor down in our dorm and is in French lit. She's from San Francisco."

"That's nice to have made friends with kids from different parts of the country," Kate commented. "And of course it's much easier for you guys to keep in touch now than it was for kids when I was in high school." Kate paused and then, glancing at Castle, grinned at Alexis. "And since your dad's safely out of earshot, you can tell me if there are any cute boys in the program. What about this Carter—that was his name, right—the one you met in the City just before leaving? Your dad mentioned him to me." Or more accurately, Castle had grumbled about this Carter and all but begged Kate to run a background check on the boy, which Kate had firmly, if laughingly, refused to do. (Castle had pouted and muttered a little about what the use was of having a cop for a girlfriend if she still refused to run background checks on one's teenage daughter's potential boyfriends.)

Alexis laughed, colored, and also glanced at her dad, as if to make sure he was out of hearing distance. "I've hung out with Carter in groups a few times but he's not in any of my classes so I don't see him all that much. But there's this other guy." Alexis stopped, blushing redder than her hair, and ducked her head.

Kate couldn't help but smile, feeling a rush of affection for the girl, and suddenly so glad that she and Alexis had this sort of relationship, even as she felt a stab of grief, as usual, remembering when she had been this young and talked about boys with her own mom. "This other guy," Kate ventured mildly, "Is he in your classes?"

Alexis nodded. "He's in government with me."

"Where's he from?"

Now Alexis looked up, her eyes lit up. "Oh, Kate, that's the coolest thing. It actually turns out that he's going to be transferring into Marlowe from next year. His parents decided they weren't happy with the public school he was going to so he's transferring so we'll be classmates even after the summer's over. That's actually one reason why we got to know each other, once he found out from a friend of his that I went to Marlowe, he introduced himself."

Kate gave Alexis a teasing smirk. "So is he cute?"

Alexis blushed again, which was really all the answer Kate needed, and then not-so-subtly avoided answering the question directly by starting to talk about the latest things they'd been learning in her classes.

Kate smiled and let Alexis's misdirection succeed. Alexis had the rest of the summer program to find out more about this boy of hers and if things continued the way it looked, Kate was sure she would be hearing more about this boy even after the summer was over. From Castle as well as Alexis, probably even more than from Alexis actually, since if anything actually came of Alexis's apparent burgeoning crush on this boy, Castle would no doubt have much to say—grumble—about it that he would not feel free to express to Alexis herself.

Kate inwardly sighed and smiled as she made a mental note to prepare herself to talk Castle out of running a background check on the boy (and possibly threatening him with a gun). Castle would pout about it but she would do what she could for Alexis's sake because she loved that girl too. And as much as Kate rolled her eyes at Castle's over-protectiveness of Alexis when it came to boys, his love of Alexis, the type of father he was, was one of the things she loved best about him.

And this, too, was what it meant to be part of Castle's family.

* * *

Kate gave her dad a quick, sideways smile as he joined her as they both stood at the edge of the lawn looking out over the bay, waiting for the fireworks to begin.

They had all had dinner in one large group and conversation had been light and interspersed with a lot of laughter. Now, with both dinner and dessert (that had consisted of an apple pie that Kate and Jenny had made earlier that day and then s'mores) long over, they were settling in to watch the fireworks over the bay. Castle turned off the lights that had been illuminating the yard to allow better enjoyment of the fireworks and the darkness made it seem only natural for their group to start splintering off into little islands of semi-privacy.

Ryan and Jenny were the first ones to wander off, Ryan's arm around Jenny as he smiled at whatever Jenny was whispering to him. Lanie and Espo followed in fairly short order although they were both doing their level best to act entirely casual about it.

Castle had rejoined them from turning off the lights and was, from the smile on his face, teasing Alexis as he slung an arm around her shoulders. Kate smiled as she watched Alexis give Castle one of her half-scolding looks and elbow him a little before she settled against him and he rested his chin against her hair in one of his characteristic positions. Castle had missed Alexis terribly these last two weeks and one of the reasons Kate had agreed so readily to take the vacation days to spend the last week in the Hamptons had been a hope that it would distract Castle from his moping.

"You know, I'm trying to remember the last time we watched a fireworks show for the Fourth of July together," her dad commented.

"It's been a while," Kate agreed, thinking back. It had been years. She and her dad had fallen out of the habit of spending any holidays together since her mom had died, even if Independence Day was less painful than other holidays, like Christmas, because it was less associated with family. These past few years, her dad had usually gone out to his cabin over the Fourth of July and she had generally worked to allow the other cops who had little kids to spend the holiday with their families. And in the last few years before her mom had died, Kate had spent the Fourth of July with friends.

Kate turned to smile at her dad. "I remember now. It was the summer after 9th grade when we went up to Boston to look at some colleges and mom's college friend invited us to have a picnic along the Charles and watch the fireworks."

"Oh, right," her dad nodded. "That was a fun trip."

"Yeah, it was."

Her dad was quiet for a few minutes while Kate enjoyed the freshness of the air and the quiet of the night. She could just hear the faint sound of water from the bay and even further away than that, the occasional murmuring sound from a party a ways down the beach. It was beautiful out here and so serene—and this place, the beautiful (enormous) house, the pool, the lawn leading out to the private beach, this was all Castle's. Kate suddenly remembered the flutter of insecurity, of doubt, she had felt when she'd first seen the place. It was easier in the City to forget the vast disparity in their incomes. The loft, for all its size and its comfort, was a homey space that wasn't ostentatious about Castle's wealth and Castle himself, as generous and occasionally extravagant as he could be, didn't tend to flaunt his money. It was seeing this place that had forcibly reminded Kate all over again that Castle was a multi-millionaire while she was… just a cop.

Kate pushed aside the memory, glancing over at Castle who had just laughed at something Alexis said, and felt her lips curving automatically, the feeling she couldn't describe except that it was vaguely warm rather like she'd just had a drink of hot chocolate or some really good wine settling in her chest, as tended to happen when she looked at Castle these days.

"You're happy, Katie," her dad said rather abruptly, breaking the silence. It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact.

Kate looked at her dad and met his eyes. "Yeah, I am," she answered honestly. She glanced at Castle again and then back at her dad before admitting, very quietly, "So happy it scares me." Her throat seemed to close up, almost choking her as the words escaped because she hated to admit feeling afraid aloud. But this was her dad and he was one of the very few people in the world to whom she ever would admit to being scared—and he was, of all people, one who would understand why she was afraid.

Her dad sighed and then put his arm around her shoulders in a brief half-hug. "I know, Katie, but you can't, you shouldn't, avoid living your life because of fear. You remember what I told you weeks ago about what your mom said about not letting fear hold you back."

"I remember."

"You didn't let fear hold you back from a relationship with Rick and you're happy."

"He makes me happy," Kate said very quietly. He did. He made her days an adventure (an often frustrating, even annoying, adventure but also a fun one); for the first time in a long time, Kate looked forward to tomorrow. And her nights… He made her nights, well, magical. Not just because he was very, very good with his hands and his mouth and his body, although he was—Kate felt a blush scorching her cheeks at the thought of how good and was thankful for the dark—but also because with him, it was always about more than just hot sex. It was about joy and even laughter and love and more trust than she had ever felt for anyone.

She sensed rather than saw her dad's smile. "He loves you, Katie."

Unlike the first time her dad had told her that Castle was in love with her, Kate didn't choke. She still felt herself color but she couldn't quite help but smile a little. "I know," she admitted. "And I… really care about him too."

She inwardly winced, hating herself all over again for her cowardice, her lingering inability to say those three words, to admit aloud that she loved Castle. She didn't know what exactly was holding her back; she knew she loved him and she was fairly sure that he knew she loved him. She wanted to tell him—the way he had told her a few times now—but somehow, every time, when he said the words, the words stuck in her throat and her heart thrashed around in her chest and fear rose up and she… backed down. She hated herself more and more every time and it was starting to feel more awkward every time (and she was fairly sure that Castle was holding back and not saying the words nearly as often as he wanted to as a result) but still, as she had now, she temporized. She had told him she really liked him, had told him she never wanted to lose him, had told him she was crazy about him—but telling him in so many words that she loved him… something inside her reacted as if it would require tearing her still-beating heart from her body and held her back.

Her dad paused and she knew he'd noticed—of course he had—that she hadn't admitted to loving Castle—more, she was somehow sure that her dad knew or had guessed at what was holding her back. (Her dad knew her too well.)

"Your mom would like Rick, just as I do, and not only because she liked his books," her dad added, a faint smile audible in his tone. Kate managed a smile into the darkness, remembering—as she had no doubt her dad was too—times that her dad had teased her mom about her love of Castle's books, low-brow popular fiction as he'd laughingly termed them.

He sobered as he went on, "Your mom wanted you to live fully, Katie, and she was so proud of you for your courage, your spirit, the way you dove into life the way you did. Don't let fear hold you back from life, Katie, or from love." Her dad was silent for a long moment and as if to punctuate his pause, there was the sound of a distant scattered series of booms from fireworks but wherever those fireworks were from, they weren't visible to them.

"Losing your mom…" her dad began shakily before his voice faltered and he stopped abruptly. Kate felt tears pricking the back of her eyes—and it occurred to her for the first time that her dad had lost so much more than she had when her mom had died. Her mom's death had ripped Kate's world apart because of how it had happened—but her dad had lost… everything. His best friend, his support, his partner in life, his love. Now, loving Castle the way she did and terrified because of the depths of that love, she felt a new sense of empathy for what her dad had lost. Kate put her arm around her dad in a sudden swell of love and sympathy. Her dad slipped his own arm around her shoulders and gave her a brief squeeze before he finished, his voice very quiet and not entirely steady, "If I could go back, even knowing what would happen, I would still choose to love your mom, to have the happy years with her. I would do it all again because it was worth it. Losing love… hurts… but love is worth it, Katie-girl."

The fireworks had begun across the bay before her dad had finished speaking but Kate still heard every single one of his words and for a moment, was blind to the first fireworks, had to blink the tears out of her eyes before she could see them.

"Oh, Dad…" she half-choked.

"I know, Katie, I know," her dad said and then added, trying to sound brisk, "No tears, Katie. Your mom wouldn't want us to be sad on a day like today."

Kate managed a wavering smile. "Right. We should enjoy the fireworks."

They watched the fireworks in silence for a few minutes, the brilliant pinwheels and starbursts of light illuminating the night sky.

"Your mom wanted you to be happy, Katie. More than anything else, she always wanted you to be happy—and so do I," her dad murmured quietly but she still heard the words, even through the sound of the fireworks.

Kate's heart pinched a little in her chest at the thought of her mom and she was thankful again for the darkness and the distraction of the fireworks so no one would notice her expression.

She heard Jenny gasp at a particularly loud boom and looked over to see Ryan grinning before her gaze automatically found Castle next. He was, predictably, beaming with that childlike glee that was so much a part of him, and sharing his enthusiasm with Alexis, who looked as if she was having nearly as much fun as he was.

Kate felt herself smiling, her heart lifting in her chest, as it always did, at the sight of him so excited. As if he'd sensed her gaze, which he likely had, he turned his head to look at her, his grin softening as he met her eyes. And Kate felt that warm sensation in her chest again.

Another loud series of booms accompanying more fireworks drew both their eyes back to the display of fireworks but Kate's smile lingered on her lips.

And although she knew it was uncharacteristically fanciful of her, for that moment, with her dad's arm around her, she could almost believe that her mom was there too. She closed her eyes and she could picture her mom's smile in watching the fireworks, hear her mom's soft laugh. And she heard her mom's well-remembered voice in her mind. _Be happy, Katie-girl, and I'll be happy too._

* * *

Later that night, Kate looked out the window of Castle's bedroom overlooking the bay.

Castle had gone to wish Alexis a good night and, she suspected, just spend more time with Alexis before he drove her back to Princeton tomorrow for the rest of the summer program. If Castle had been rather moping from missing Alexis the last two weeks, Kate didn't really even want to think about how much Castle would mope in the next five weeks before the program ended since until now, Castle had always been able to comfort himself with the knowledge that he would be seeing Alexis again for this weekend. Now, with the holiday weekend ending tomorrow, Castle was facing the reality that he wouldn't see Alexis again for the next five weeks.

Kate was rather glad to have this window of time to be alone, even if it was bound to be relatively brief. She was tired and as much fun as the weekend had been, having some time alone was an appealing thought.

It was one thing she had noted in the last few weeks since she had moved into her new apartment. As happy as she had been at the loft and as much as Castle and Martha and Alexis had been good about giving her space, it had not really been the same. Kate had almost never been entirely alone in the loft and just the very fact of someone else being around—and Kate's consciousness that she was, still, in spite of everything, a guest—had made Kate self-conscious and unwilling to retreat into the greater privacy of her room too often or for too long. And the luxury of being completely alone was something she found she'd missed more than she'd realized. She was, for better or worse, used to living alone, used to having a lot of solitude, and she was finding that the habits formed over the last decade or so of her life of living alone were not easily or immediately changed.

Through the open window, she could hear the faint sound of the water but other than that, it was remarkably quiet, peaceful in a way that the City could never be. She knew she was too much of a New Yorker to really live out here but for a break from the City, she thought this place could easily equal her dad's cabin for peace—and it had the added benefit of being about half the distance from the City than her dad's cabin was.

Her mom would have loved this place, she thought, not for the first time. The thought was only tinged with melancholy but otherwise, she was simply… happy. Happy and at peace in a way she wasn't sure she'd ever felt before.

She sensed his presence before she heard him closing his bedroom door behind him and she didn't turn around as he came up behind her, sliding his arms around her waist. She leaned back against him, resting her head against his shoulder, and let her eyes close for a minute to enjoy the way she fit against him so perfectly like this when she wasn't wearing heels.

"Alexis is actually excited to be going back to Princeton tomorrow," he finally murmured, his tone decidedly disgruntled. "My daughter is clearly a freak of nature."

She laughed softly. "She is not."

"Who ever heard of a teenager being excited to go back to school or a school program instead of staying on vacation?"

"You should be happy for her."

"I am," he said in a tone that indicated no such thing. "I just wish she wasn't quite so excited to go back to a college dorm where there are lots of teenage boys." His tone made it sound as if teenage boys were some form of alien life dangerous to humans.

She laughed again. "Silly Castle. And from the sounds of it, I think Alexis is still rather more excited about her classes than she is about boys. You should trust Alexis more."

"I do trust Alexis. I just don't trust teenage boys within ten feet of Alexis and I say that as someone who used to be a teenage boy."

"You're being ridiculous, Castle. It's not like the kids are entirely alone; there are counselors and teachers around to provide adult supervision."

He sighed, his breath ruffling the back of her ear. "I know. It's not only that. I just… miss her."

She softened. "I know you do." Kate had found that she missed Alexis too, rather surprising her a little. Kate had, after all, not spent that much time with Alexis before her apartment had exploded but after staying at the loft for two months and seeing Alexis every day, she found she did miss Alexis, had missed talking to Alexis, had missed the way she and Alexis teamed up to tease Castle.

"This summer will be the longest I've ever gone without seeing Alexis."

"I know."

"I am never going to be able to send Alexis off to college," he declared, as if he were stating a new principle of life.

She suppressed a smile at his dramatics. "You will because you have to. But you don't need to worry about that now. You still have two years left before it'll be time for her to leave."

"Only two years…"

"Two years is a long time, Castle. After all," she added, wanting to distract him, "two years ago, you had no idea who I was."

His arms tightened around her as he brushed his lips against her ear, nudging her hair aside. "That seems impossible."

It did. "It's still true."

Two years ago, her life had been all about her work. Two years ago, she'd been so alone. Two years ago, she would never have even imagined that she might have family again, could not have imagined feeling so happy.

"Well, then, thank goodness you met me."

She huffed a laugh. "I think it's the other way around. You should be thankful that _you_ met _me_," she retorted teasingly.

"I've always been lucky that way," he said smugly and she could hear his smirk in his tone.

"So you're conceding that meeting me was a stroke of luck for you."

"I wouldn't call it luck," he responded lightly and then, in one of those lightning-fast changes of tone that she was getting accustomed to where he was concerned, he added entirely soberly, "I think meeting you was a gift from Fate. Aside from Alexis, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Oh. Oh, damn. He could always manage to melt her heart and weaken her knees with his words.

"I love you."

She froze. Oh god. She hadn't realized, hadn't thought—the words had just spilled out of her, no preamble, no warning. After all this time, all these weeks of her own cowardice and now, she just blurted out the words before her brain had even realized she was going to say them.

His entire body jerked as he let out his breath as if he'd just been sucker punched. "What?"

Amazingly, she felt a smile curve her lips, a bubble of amusement welling up inside her. "You heard me."

"I didn't," he denied immediately. "There was a… thing. I was distracted by a… there was a weird buzzing in my ears so I didn't hear you. Say it again."

She grinned, suddenly feeling a little giddy at finally having said the words, so giddy that she couldn't even feel a twinge of irritation at his pushing her to repeat herself. After all this time, all her fears, now that the words had been said once, she felt like a little kid terrified of the monsters in the closet who had finally gotten up the courage to open the closet door only to discover that the monsters didn't exist. "I love you, Castle," she said again, the words coming so much easier this second time, and she could almost taste the truth of the words on her lips. Now, finally, the truth was out and she just felt… free. And she realized, too, that saying the words again felt good, that she'd needed it, somehow, to prove that it wasn't just something she could blurt out when she wasn't thinking.

"Kate…" He sounded, for one of the few times in his life, as if he had no idea what to say.

She turned around in his arms to face him and found that there was something better than the feeling she got when she said the words. The best part was seeing his face when she'd said the words, seeing the way his eyes, his entire expression, had lit up with so much love and joy. And oh, her heart twisted a little inside her chest. She had thought—believed—that he knew she loved him and maybe he had—she still thought he must have known—but it still meant… a lot… to him to hear the words. Maybe it was because he was a writer, used to expressing himself in words, but whatever it was, she could see how much hearing her say the words meant to him. He needed the words too.

"Rick." His face changed, softened, the way it always did in the rare times when she used his first name.

She would, she promised herself, have to be better about giving him the words. Would have to remember how much words meant to him. It was what he needed—and she wanted to be what he needed, wanted to be enough for him. She felt a sudden, almost painful, surge of love inside her—this love she had fought and denied for months that now seemed to have taken possession of her heart, her very soul. This—he—was her one and she was sure that she would never love anyone the way she loved him. She was, she thought, like her dad in that way; she would fall in love once and stay in love forever.

Her throat felt tight, again, and as always with her, what she felt the most was hardest to say, her words failing her when it came to the emotions she felt the deepest. It was why it was so much easier for her to keep relationships floating lightly, easily, on teasing and banter. But she couldn't do that with Castle. So instead of her own words, she fell back on someone else's. "'I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.'"*

His eyes lit up, almost glowed, as if illuminated from within, became the deepest, truest blue she'd ever seen. Oh, the way he looked at her. He looked at her as if she was the most beautiful, precious thing in the world.

And then he hugged her, his arms tightening around her, catching her so tightly against him she lost her breath, as he held her in the sort of embrace a person reserved for those nearest and dearest to him. He held her as if he would never let her ago.

She felt one of his hands tangling in her hair and then felt him press his lips to her hair and then her temple. "Oh god, Kate, I love you too, so much. I am completely, irrevocably in love with you."

She closed her eyes and buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in the so-familiar scent of him, and let herself sink into him, enjoy the feeling of being entirely wrapped up in him, against him. Being held like this by him, feeling the strength of his arms around her, felt like the safest place in the world, as if nothing and no one could hurt her as long as she was here with him.

It was irrational, she knew that, but it was true. It was a feeling she'd lost the day her mom had died—and now she had somehow found that sense of security again.

Not because she actually believed that nothing bad would happen but because with him, she knew that no matter what happened, she wouldn't be alone.

Kate suddenly found herself remembering what he'd said when he'd given her the _Temptation Lane_ DVD's months ago, that home wasn't about a place or the things in it, but was where a person felt comfortable and safe.

He'd been right.

It wasn't about where she stayed—whether it was at her own apartment or at the loft or here in the Hamptons or anywhere else.

Being with Castle was where she felt safest, the most comfortable, and when she was with him, she was home.

She lifted her head and he kissed her, hard, his lips and tongue taking possession of her mouth. And she kissed him back with all the love she felt for him.

She was only vaguely aware of stumbling backwards, his lips and his hands making it increasingly hard to think or be conscious of anything at all except for him and his mouth and his hands and his body.

His lips finally left hers as she fell back onto his bed and he followed her, his lips skating down her chin and finding the sensitive spot behind her ear.

"Kate. Oh god, Kate, I love you. Kate," he was murmuring against her skin, the breathless words punctuated with kisses.

She cut off his words by dragging his mouth back to hers and then there was no more talking at all. The rest of the world fell away until there was only him. Just Castle—and she knew she was loved and she was _home_.

_~The End~_

* Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

* * *

A/N 2: And that's the end. I hope it satisfies!

I'm tentatively pondering a sequel to this to go through S3 and how what happens in that season affects Castle and Beckett's relationship but it may not happen since S3 has been written about so much, I'm not sure there's anything more that could be said.

At any rate, thank you, everyone, who's read this fic, reviewed it, followed, it, or added it to their favorites, especially to the Guest reviewers whom I can't thank directly. I've been absolutely blown away by the support this fic has gotten and I can't thank you enough.


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